The Blaidd Drwg Uprising
by Radar1388
Summary: He promised to always take care of her. However, promises can snap all too easily. When Rose vanishes before the Doctor's eyes, in his own TARDIS, him and Jack Harkness don't waste a moment trying to find her. All the while, their job as time and space travelers quickly formed the start of an uprising, a rebellion. Warning: Dark at times.
1. Introduction: A Snapped Promise

_* My first shot with writing a Doctor Who chapter story. An AU to "Boom Town". **Constructive criticism is welcomed.** I referenced the episode "Boom Town" and the episode "Journey to the Centre of the Tardis"._

**_I don't own Doctor Who at all._**

Introduction: A Snapped Promise

"_One wrong move and she snaps like a promise," the Slitheen hissed after catching the blonde by the throat. Blon Fel-Fotch stepped closer to the boys with a sneer growing across her face. "I've had you bleating all night. Poor baby," she mocked the Doctor as she dragged Rose over a step, a small choke escaping the captive's throat. The Doctor's growl was hard to suppress, and he almost broke his unbiased stare._

_Their lifestyle wasn't always easy or happy; Rose knew this. The Doctor _knew_ that Rose knew this. Currently, though, that didn't matter. Rose was in danger when he'd promised he'd always take care of her. He promised himself, he promised Rose. He even promised Jackie. _

_If you were to contact the Doctor months prior and question him regarding his friendship with Rose, he most likely wouldn't have batted an eye nor even think twice. Rose was just another companion. But times had changed. She was no longer _just another ape_. No. Rose Tyler, his pink and yellow human, became something a bit more to him. Something he still couldn't place._

_Blon demanded that the Extrapolator be dropped at her feet. Jack Harkness stole a quick glance at the Doctor, to which his reply was a brisk nod. No chances were to be taken. Not with her. _

_The TARDIS continued to shudder with the vortex still ripping through her, and everyone tried to keep balance with it's ferocious rattling. However, the Doctor knew better. He could feel the insistence within his ship, within the TARDIS. He gave another quick nod, and only one being on the entire ship regarded the movement._

_With a final heave, the TARDIS flung open a section of its console, finally and purposefully opening the brightness of its soul in front of their prisoner._

"_Look at it, Margaret," the Doctor encouraged, a peaceful smile spreading over the Slitheen's human features. "Look inside, Blon Fel-Fotch. Look at the light." He grinned proudly at the TARDIS console, knowing that his precious ship was about to do something wonderful. He may have telepathic communications with the ship, but that was to an extent. The ship always seemed to have a mind of her own, only telling him half the plans she occasionally came up with. _Less than half_, the Doctor decided. His happiness was encouraged when Blon's claws slackened around his companion's neck. _

_And as Rose took a relieving gulp of air, familiar claws caught her throat once more, and retightened._

"Oh," Blon exhaled as the light of the TARDIS's soul seemed to dim by a fraction. "You _are_ alive. And you are clever." A sharp groaning sounded about the TARDIS, and Jack almost mistook it for a menacing snarl. That's probably what it was. "I know," the Slitheen tutted as if speaking to a toddler instead of a centuries old time machine. With a small desperate cough coming from Rose, Blon returned to idly petting her golden hair. "But would you really risk it, having this little girl in the line of fire?"

Another growl resonated, and this time it wasn't the rift making everything shift. "What's going on," Jack demanded, almost facing the Doctor's bemused stare, but he didn't respond to the question.

The Doctor could feel something changing within the TARDIS, but nothing had taken control of her. The TARDIS originally had such a clever trick up her proverbial sleeve, but the agenda was changing. And he didn't have to wait long to know that the TARDIS's mind was made up, yet it continued to stall, its soul still wide open.

Blon's grin stayed plastered to her face. "Do we have a deal," she asked, not looking away from the light.

The Doctor wasn't surprised to feel the exasperation within his TARDIS. At this point, who wouldn't feel the same? However, when Blon easily flicked her eyes away from the light to look the Doctor in the eye, something nudged at the back of his mind. It wasn't an image, wasn't a particular sound, there wasn't even an echo. There were just words.

Two words.

The Doctor's mouth worked around the words, unable to grasp their meaning. His confusion was quickly shattered when Rose was suddenly hefted onto her tiptoes, emitting a string of coughs and hacks as the Slitheen merely chuckled. A growing anger boiled in the Doctor's gut. Rose had only uttered hiccups and grunts up until that point. At the clearer sound of her obvious pain and distress, the Doctor stood straighter, ready to lunge forwards if needed. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jack getting ready to do the same.

"Margaret," he tried reasoning, still used to using her human name.

"Don't even try, Doctor," she spat at him, pulling Rose a bit closer.

For a brief second the Doctor and Rose caught each other's gaze...right before Rose's eyes slammed shut, her supply of oxygen slowly depleting.

He felt his usually casual demeanor crumple. "Margaret!"

"I told you once, Doctor," she said, ignoring the outburst and repossessing a grin. "that I can never escape you…but I was wrong, and now we're both getting our wish. We'll both be rid of each other. I can make that getaway I wanted, while you keep your precious city."

"Won't be that hard to follow you," the Doctor explained smartly as he casually strolled closer, discreetly trying to devise a way to rescue his companion. "Like you said, my ship's smart. Has the best technology out there!"

"I don't doubt it." Blon's smile never faltered. "But would she be willing to do as you say?" She turned back to the soul of the TARDIS. "A deal's a deal, _old girl_," she exclaimed, her wide smile turning manic.

Again, the Doctor felt two words burning at the back of his mind as a loud screech rang out and the room flooded with the sharp light of the TARDIS's soul. When the light was manageable enough to actually see, he looked to the spot where Rose had been standing. Then he blinked again, just to be sure.

The opened section of the console, containing the soul, closed with a tired hiss, with the rest of the console lazily sparking here and there. In his fixated state, the Doctor was only vaguely aware of Captain Jack leaping this way and that, reversing toggles and slapping various buttons. Only after this did the storm outside the TARDIS begin to quiet, the rift above them closing peacefully.

"They're gone."

Jack spun around at the voice. Mouth closed in a mournfully thin line, Jack clapped a hand over the Doctor's shoulder, the two men staring at the empty space where their companion and prisoner once stood on.

The Doctor swallowed and whispered, "_She's_ gone..."

Jack flinched when the Doctor suddenly bolted, racing around the console while turning on dials, buttons, switches, anything he could get his hands and fingers around!

"Hey," Jack hollered, stumbling around the console trying to keep up. "You gonna slow down and tell me what the hell's going on?"

"Come on," the Doctor grumbled after he twisted a 'Smiths' key that turned on a portion of the TARDIS's more advanced navigating systems, but the TARDIS rebelled. The key snapped back into position and froze there. Even when the Doctor tried twisting it again, the TARDIS didn't relent.

"Come on," the Doctor repeated with a steadily wavering voice. "Come on, you can track them."

"Doc-"

The Doctor slammed his open palm against the edge of the console. "Help me track them, damn it!"

Jack couldn't help but flinch. "Doctor, what-"

"They teleported," he explained through clenched teeth, dipping his head and staring hard at a random speck of debris on the console.

After a moment, Jack crossed his arms and shrugged. "Just use the sonic to get them back."

"It won't work."

"While we were chasing Margaret it worked…three times in a row."

The Doctor numbly extracted the sonic screwdriver from his pocket and placed it in front of him. "The _TARDIS_ teleported them. The TARDIS can make a sonic screwdriver. Therefore, there's no reason it can't control it." He exhaled.

"How can the TARDIS do all of that," Jack exclaimed dubiously.

The Doctor's voice raised, but he still didn't look at him. "This machine can travel through time and space, and you're wondering how she can teleport two people?" The Doctor shook his head. "The TARDIS opened up her soul. _I_ don't even know how powerful that kind of energy is…The TARDIS did what she wanted."

Slowly and rigidly, the Doctor circled around the console. He didn't make an effort to fidget with the controls as per usual, as though this was a form of silent treatment to the old girl. "For some reason," he spoke quietly, with Jack straining to hear him. The Doctor stopped his hand from flicking out to involuntarily pat the centre of the TARDIS console. "She doesn't want us going after them.

"It doesn't make sense," the Doctor murmured, mostly to himself, as he began circling the console again. Jack could almost see a growing determination behind the Time Lord's eyes. "The TARDIS loves Rose." When the Doctor slowly began flicking toggles and pushing buttons again, a tiny grin splayed over the Captain's features.

"Well," Jack began. "We gonna go get her, or what?"

"Captain," the Doctor held Jack's gaze steadily. "We're going to find her whether the TARDIS likes it or not. The TARDIS may not want us to hone directly in on them, but she can't stop me from trying to track them myself." He spun a dial. "And when we find her," the Doctor murmured the promise. "Blon is going to meet the Oncoming Storm." He pulled one last lever and with a reluctant heave, the TARDIS took off into the vortex.

He remembered Rose's paling face as the Slitheen held her in its tight grasp. However, what stayed with him, as Harkness and him took flight, was not just her face, but her eyes. Her eyes weren't filled with malice or irritation, but with fear. She wasn't afraid for herself, though. She was afraid for her friends, for Cardiff. She was afraid that Margaret's plan would follow through.

The Doctor chuckled almost proudly. He couldn't name a time where she was selfish or uncaring. Her fear for other's lives was nothing new nor surprising, but the TARDIS's behavior was. And his beloved ship's words – those two haunting words – rang like cloister bells in his mind.

_I'm sorry._


	2. Ten Thousand Slates

_*** Warning: Dark chapter. **_

_I made a reference to the galaxy system known as "Arp 273". Which is a real system, but my version, "BW 273" is completely fictitious, but there is a reason I used the image of that system. The Stygge Belt is completely made up, though._

_I referenced the episode "Utopia"._

Ten Thousand Slates

The Stygge Belt was a skinny cluster of asteroids located within BW 273. BW 273 was simply the name of a cluster of galaxies interacting harmoniously around each other. The Stygge Belt would weave its way around each galaxy, the orbit of every planet within BW 273 determining its path. It was never stationary, always moving, much like its people.

Only a small string of asteroids within the Belt proved safe to traverse. These asteroids became the Moving Marketplace. The locals would land on these asteroids when close enough to their planet, which is why it was always alive with activity. Different beings of different places would frequent the tourist attraction that was the Marketplace. Therefore, there were always vendors set up, and always new faces.

A vendor that kept a constant stand on the Marketplace held nothing but various antiques ranging from watercolor paintings to toys, from chipped statues to rusted mechanics. This stand caught the eye of many travelers and tourists. The odd stranger was often overlooked.

"Excuse me, sir," a rather nasally yet authoritative voice rang sharply in the strange man's ears. Suddenly, the blue vase was wrenched from his grip. The man finally looked the vendor the eye. "Don't touch unless you intend to buy," the vendor said, pulling a rag from his pocket to polish the ceramic.

The vendor was a short, portly man wearing a patchy coat that swept against the dry grass and dirt under his feet. If not for the elfish ears and only three fingers on each hand, the vendor could easily pass for human.

"Sorry," the main said distantly yet genuinely. "I was just-"

"Are you going to buy it or not," the vendor asked impatiently. The man ran a hand through his already tousled hair then shook his head. "Suit yourself," he shrugged, setting the vase out of sight on a high shelf.

After a brief pause, the man sucked in a breath. "Tell me," the man prompted. "You trade and sell lots of antiques. I was hoping-"

"I do not take requests! I am a collector, not a hunter. Been there, done that," the vendor said, with a shiver at whatever memory had surfaced.

"I prefer to be an admirer than a hunter any day," the man murmured with an understanding nod, brown hair falling just before equally brown eyes. He stuffed a hand in a suit pocket and leaned an elbow against the vendor's counter. "But I got word that you have something rare, something ancient."

"I always have things like that, it's my trade," the vendor replied flippantly, taking down another vase to shine.

The man took another patient breath. "Something from a planet called Gallifrey."

The vendor paused briefly. Then, he set the vase down before fully facing his customer. "What do you know of Gallifrey?"

"Planet of the Time Lords," the man said simply. "Destroyed in a war."

The vendor mumbled an agreement, ducking under the counter where the man's elbow still rested. "I have a few things that were appraised to be from Gallifrey." The man heard the vendor shuffling various glass and metal items around. "Which did you want to see?" When the man said he wanted to see all of them, the vendor ceased his rifling and pulled out a small wooden crate. The man winced when it was placed on the table with an unceremonious thud.

The vendor extracted three items from the crate and placed them on the counter. "They're just mechanical parts," the vendor said, eyeing the mangled and bent pieces with a scrunched nose. "I found an odd fob watch about a fortnight ago, but that's long gone, I'm afraid."

"Never mind the watch," the man waved a dismissive hand. "I'll take these," he said enthusiastically. The vendor almost missed him whispering, "Blimey, thank goodness you have these."

"Very well then," the vendor sighed, his tattered coat coming up in a shrug. "A pile of rust for the happy customer. That'll be four-hundred and fifty slates." The man's eyebrows pulled together. "It's the currency here," the vendor explained. "Flat rectangular and square stones. That's slate."

"Right..." The man shook his head. He rummaged through his coat pockets and pulled out a small white card. "This should do," he said casually.

The vendor took the card and scrutinized it. He coughed in disgust. "Royal Province," he spluttered.

"Yeah," the man drew out the word, scratching his neck. "But no 'Your Grace' or any of that rubbish." He straightened himself and his tie with a regal air about him. "I prefer to be thought of as 'regular', if you don't mind."

"I bloody well mind," the vendor grumbled, but, not wanting to offend someone with such power, he pushed the mechanical parts towards the man, giving them to him. "What Province is it, anyways?"

"Oh, just a Province currently east of the Belt," the man said vaguely, stuffing the white card back in its pocket. "But slates haven't always been the currency. Is that recent?"

"Only in the last seven decades! Look, I know the vendor down the way sells fantastic ale, but you really need to cut back, my friend," the vendor chortled, his bluntness making him forget that he was talking to a supposed royal.

"Seventy years," the man whispered. He looked off to the side to take in the view of the bustling crowds of folks walking between other vendors and shops, many of them carrying souvenirs and upbeat chattering. "Last time I was here this place wasn't like this. This section of the Stygge Belt used to be so run down, no one seemed to bother anymore."

"Yep," the vendor said, putting the crate away. "That was my grandfather's era. I'd be lying if I said my family grew up rich. Everything changed, though, thanks to the traders."

"Traders?"

The vendor nodded, tenting his hands on the counter. "Slave traders," he explained with heedless nonchalance. "My grandfather told me that the traders needed open areas for their auctions. They offered the Moving Marketplace a new currency, and then practically gave the lot of it to everyone in this Belt."

"Slave…traders..." The man felt his fists clench at his sides.

"We needed the money," the vendor mused. "And the traders needed auction sites. We've been thriving for decades because of them."

"And what of those slaves," the man ground out, standing to his full height over the shorter being. "Hmm? How are _they_ thriving?"

"We aren't involved with the traders or their slaves," the vendor replied stoically, trying to ignore the audible gulp that he made when he looked into the man's darkening eyes. "We're only a tourist site."

"As are the slaves, apparently. That means you _are_ involved, and what you _are_ involved in is illegal in this galaxy cluster. So," the man put his hands flat against the counter, staring the littler man down until he began to cower. "When's the next auction."

* * *

><p>The man's coat swept at the tall pale grass as he sauntered to the auction site. Set in a field yards away from the shops and vendors was an empty platform and podium. At first, the man thought he was too late, but upon hearing mixed conversations of the folks around him, he quickly gathered this was only a brief intermission, as the auction had apparently been going on for hours until this point.<p>

_That means there have already been sales going on_, the man thought wretchedly. _How many innocent people have been sold off already?_ The hammering of a wooden gavel rang throughout the field, beckoning everyone back to the stand.

The man crinkled his nose in both disgust and fury. The slaves, all women, were brought out one by one from a curtain behind the stand. Each woman had their own description detailing their age, planet of origin, workload capability, strengths, weaknesses, and incarceration time. Nothing in their description was personal. Their names, their family, their background was never said. The trader at the podium spoke of the women as if they were objects.

At first, the man noted how awful a shape they were in, dirt and unidentifiable bits of grime littered their withered clothes. What was worse was seeing the various cuts and bruises on their arms and legs rubbing against their filthy clothing, not wanting to know how many more injuries lay underneath. However, they brought another slave onto the stand, and the man quickly took back his thoughts upon seeing _this_ woman's condition.

The man immediately took note of how they dragged this poor girl onto the stage, and then shoved calloused hands against her back, forcing her to kneel head-down in front of the crowd. They began prattling off a description of her, but the man wasn't listening, only watching.

The woman on the stand wore similar clothing as the other women, but with more rips and tears. And just like the others, bruises and scratches were scattered all over her body, but more frequent and _painfully_ obvious. Even out of all those things, including the bruise along her jaw, that's not what he first noticed about her.

The moment they brought her onto the stand, the moment they got her to stay still long enough to see her eyes, before they made her kneel with her stunning yellow hair draping over her bruised, ashen face…The man almost felt his pulse stop, and he swallowed to prevent the bile rising in his throat.

The bidding started. Offers were called out here and there, but none possessed too extravagant numbers, much to the auctioneers' agitation. One of the auctioneers nodded to bring the gavel down, the last call from a relatively bulky man who offered a couple hundred slates. The gavel swiftly approached the stand, but never made it down, for a strange man had called out _his_ number.

And no one in the entirety of BW 273 would ever be able to match the amount called.

* * *

><p>The woman tried shifting on her knees to a more comfortable position, but was quickly chastised by a sharp smack to the ribs from one of the auctioneers. In exasperation, and trying to hide a short whimper of pain, she blew her blond hair from her face. The bidding had begun for her and her expectations were met. Everyone calling out their numbers sounded lazy as usual. There was even accidental bidding being called, especially by two men near the front row.<p>

"You thick or something," one of the bidders exclaimed. "Five hundred slates?!"

"She wouldn't be good for working the land no more," his mate hollered back. "But I figure she'd make a decent maid."

She shivered disgustedly at their words. Though unable to look up, she was almost imagining the sneers on their faces. The auctioneers were about to announce her as 'sold' when a strong, resolute voice rang over the field, louder than any gavel, his bid silencing everyone.

She remembered when bids for her started off with hundreds to a thousand slates. However, as time progressed and as her state gradually worsened, the bids started lessening. She had been tossed around from master to master, all because of the reputation she made for herself. She didn't care, though, even when she heard the announcer at the podium give a poor description of her. _The more auctions I go to, the better_, she thought secretively to herself. However, very soon, she would become too beaten to be bothered with anymore, and they would dispose of her.

So, her eyes widened and she resisted the urge look up at her new master. She wondered who this man was, wondered who was _mad_ enough to bid ten thousand _bloody _slates on her.

* * *

><p><em>* It's not exactly meant to make sense yet. The next chapter should be up in the next week. Constructive criticism is welcomed.<em>


	3. Too Long

Too Long

The auctioneers and slave traders looked very much like the antique vendor. Aside from the taller stature and paler skin, they still retained pointed ears and three fingers on each hand. There was one other thing the man picked up on: They were a bit wiser than the vendor.

"I'm sorry," the auctioneer said as he and the highest bidder stepped into the foyer. He tried handing the white card back to the man. "But we only accept slates."

"I assure you," the man said, shoving the card back in his direction. "That paper is worth more than a billion slates, and then some."

"But can it buy my dinner for the night? Can it pay the auction bills? Can it pay for my ship's fuel? Can it-"

"Can it get you into restricted places? Can you use it as a credit card? Can you use it as an ID?" The man grinned and crossed his arms. "All that and more."

"How can one piece of blank scrap do that?" The auctioneer leaned back against a high table, also crossing his arms. "The Moving Market place is a local system that we visit frequently. We've come to know the people there, but you're definitely a new face." The auctioneer missed the man's snort at the choice of words. "Where are you from? You look almost human."

"Oh, I'm just a weary traveler, really," the man reached up to tug at his ear. "Why? Got a problem with humans?"

The auctioneer chuckled and turned to lead them both through the corridor and down the stretch of halls. "So long as they keep bringing in the revenue we expect, humans are welcomed _guests_."

The man raised an eyebrow at the auctioneers robed back, not out of confusion, but, matched with a frown, it was silent criticism. He took a deep breath to reign in his emotions, and then followed the auctioneer to where he could finally get a closer look at his purchase.

For such a small auction site, the man didn't realize the kind of technology they would have. The house, another couple yards from the auction site, that they held the slaves in wasn't even a rooted foundation, able to be moved and transported if ever needed. While certain sidings of the house were just simple holograms, most rooms, which made up probably seventy percent of the home, were like pop-up caravans, able to be erected and collapsed at any time.

Regardless if the house wasn't a permanent fixture, it still spoke volumes from both inside and out. Tiled floors, regally carpeted walls, and perfectly heighted ceilings immediately caught the eye, making one forget that they were in a, more or less, overgrown trailer home. If not for a thin layer of dust in every nook and cranny, it could almost pass for fancy living.

"Hope you don't mind my asking," the man said, trying to stifle a cough as a bit of dust seem to spring at his face. "But why would you need this place to be collapsible?"

"The law," the auctioneer said without looking back. "The kind of technology for this house isn't authorized in this section of the galaxy yet."

"It's illegal," the man nodded, attempting stoicism. "But so are the slaves." And the man didn't miss when the auctioneer's stride stuttered by a fraction.

"Speaking of which, tell me," the auctioneer quickly attempted to change the subject, eyes narrowing. "What does a traveler want with a slave? You'd have to drag it around everywhere."

The man shrugged nonchalantly. "Never had a slave before. Thought I'd give it a go."

The auctioneer stopped before making the turn around the next corridor. He faced the man. "And you just so happened to choose _this_ slave?"

"She seemed interesting to me."

They both locked eyes for a moment, each studying as if trying to find ways into the other's mind and soul. The man's eyebrow raised again. As causal as the auctioneer was at face value, his eyes read intimidation and a certain dominance of power. A being, just slightly shorter than the man, who thought he was the tallest one in the hallway. The man knew better than to allow himself to be looked down upon, and physically straightened.

Finally, the auctioneer tilted his nose up and sniffed haughtily, turning on his heels back down the hall. "I just can't understand, though," he grumbled.

"Understand what?" The man followed closely.

"Ten _thousand_ slates." The auctioneer turned slightly to wave a thin finger at the man without breaking his stride. "First off, you bid ten thousand slates, even though you're broke. Second, you placed the bid on _that_ slave."

"What's wrong with _that_ slave," the man asked, trying to hide his incredulity at such a callous remark.

"What_ isn't_ wrong with her," the auctioneer mumbled with a shake of the head. "She's been here so long already, but she's near impossible to break."

"Is she," he asked. Regardless if he had to keep with this current act, he still couldn't hide the hum of pride in his voice.

They turned another corner, and the auctioneer reached in his pocket for a key. "We've tried everything imaginable on her, but she's still stubborn."

"When you say 'everything'-" The auctioneer suddenly stopped, almost bowling the man over.

"Here we are," the auctioneer replied cheerfully, jamming a wrought-iron key in a lock set in dual wooden doors. "This paper," he said, holding up the white card with one hand and jimmying the lock with the other. "I've heard of it. It's sort of psychic, ain't it? Rare piece of technology, you got here. We don't normally do trades – we prefer the slates – but I think we can make an exception in this case."

The man nodded thankfully, his shoulders dropping as if relieved. "You're the boss," he replied casually.

"I'm not," the auctioneer winked up at him. "But what my boss' don't know won't hurt them. They only pay me so much. Swiping riches off them on occasion doesn't hurt anyone. Besides, this paper may not be worth ten thousand slates, but it's certainly worth more than that slave." The auctioneer suddenly scoffed in annoyance, trying to shake the handle and turn the key at the same time.

"If you like," the man said, digging a hand into a breast pocket on the inside of his suit. "I can help-"

"Ha," the auctioneer hollered when a clunk came from inside the lock, allowing the door handle to turn with ease. "After you, sir," the auctioneer gestured for the man to enter first, which he strode forwards without hesitation. "And thank you for your purchase." He started snickering lightly. "I wish you good luck with this one."

The man and the auctioneer stepped into a bedroom about the size of a hotel room, complete with a four-poster bed, though missing the blanket and pillows. In the farthest corner of the room sat a small wet bar with a steaming kettle on its counter next to various bottles. All alcoholic probably. In the other corner was a door. And in the corner farthest from where they were standing, with back turned, was his win at the auction.

A blonde-haired woman with tattered clothes stood in front of a pair of long, thick chains that bound her wrists to the wall. The man cleared his throat to garner her attention, but the girl didn't even move to acknowledge his presence.

The auctioneer placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "If you'll follow me," he pointed to the door on the other side of the room. "We'll get through some paper work and get you the hell out of here."

The man blinked, but refused to look away from the young lady. "Paperwork?"

The auctioneer nodded and shrugged at the same time. "It's mostly me signing and handing things over, but it's just to keep track of what slave went with whom. It minimizes extra paperwork and confusion if you so choose to resell your slave."

The man crinkled his nose, but still didn't break his stare. "If it's mostly you doing the signing, would you mind if I stayed out here while you did it?"

"W-with the slave," the auctioneer stuttered, as if it was such an impropriety.

"If I'm buying her, I may as well get to know her a bit." The man finally looked away from the girl to lock gazes steadily with the auctioneer. "That shouldn't be a problem, should it?"

For a moment, the auctioneer's eyes flashed between the man and the slave, jaw gaping like a fish thrown from water. "I…Wouldn't you rather oversee-"

"Yeah." The man scratched the messy brown hair on the back of his neck. "I'm not really one for paperwork, so…"

The auctioneer took another few seconds before sighing resolutely. "Very well," he said, straightening his shoulders and turning away. "If it's to make the customer happy." Before the auctioneer closed the door, he looked back once more. "By the way, help yourself to a drink. And, also, there's a whip on the far wall, should you need it."

* * *

><p>The man stood there rather dumbly.<p>

He hadn't moved from the spot since the auctioneer left the room, which was minutes ago, and in all that time the man could've managed to actually get something done, make progress. Instead, he stalled. Making himself stare at the woman's back instead of actually confronting her face. Oh, if she'd only turned around so he could see her face...

As if inhaling would muster up any amount courage, he slowly started making his way towards the blonde. His stride, always strong and confident, was cautious, judging by the sound of how his white shoes scuffed nervously against the tiled flooring. He only half-realized that he stepped on some excess chain on the floor near the wall. He finally made it to where he was close enough to touch the woman's shoulder; almost close enough to see past the hair draped over her eyes. The man swallowed. Then, he felt his hand lift on its own accord.

Too long. It had been too long since he'd done this. He tried to convey the movement of his hand as gentle as possible, not wanting to frighten her, knowing surely she'd now be terrified of any man's presence. The tips of his fingers were almost ready to brush over the fraying hair on her shoulder.

The chains binding the woman's wrists suddenly dropped to the floor with a messy clang. The man's eyes widened in shocked, and before he could react, the chains under his feet were ripped away, causing him to fly backwards and hit the floor.

"No!" A feminine voice rang out over the room.

He groaned and tried to ignore the throbbing pain that bloomed in his shoulder as he sat up quickly. The first thing he saw was the opened cuffs attached to the chains laying on the floor in front of him, their locks picked clean through with a small sliver of metal sticking out of a keyhole. The second thing he saw was the woman, away from the chains and pounding her fist once against the closed double doors.

"Damn it," her voice, music to the man's ears, ground out. "They _never_ lock these doors!"

Ignoring the odd fact that the traders wouldn't lock doors in a facility that held slaves, he slowly stood up and brushed excess dust away from his long trench coat. There was a slight shuffling, indicating that someone in the room had turned around. His swiping hands halted against the collar of his coat. His hands fell to his sides as he brought up his gaze to meet the woman's eyes.

_Too long._ He waited far too long for this moment.

Only a moment ago he was unable to see the woman's face, unable to completely register the reality of what was in front of him. And here he was, finally able to look upon those clever hazel eyes once again. The man chuckled breathlessly._ Clever, indeed._ Her stubborn, cautious, yet still soft gaze bore into his own. He couldn't look away, couldn't get enough of seeing her again.

His elated grin soon bordered on giddy as his eyes rememorized her features. Although, this wasn't needed, not with his alien memory coupled with the way he felt towards this sole human being. For a long second he waited, hoping that this girl would recognize him and return the smile - that tongue-in-teeth grin - like she did once upon a time. However, her face was steady. He could almost feel her unease rolling off her in waves. Yet, despite her thinking that this man was a threat, she refused to look away from his solid brown eyes, refusing to be intimidated or frightened. He felt another spark of pride within him.

Out of a self-imposed dare, and stupidity, he stepped forwards by centimeters and stuck out his hand. What happened wasn't a flinch or wince, but her neck tilted back as if insulted.

"Keep away from me," she growled, staring suspiciously at his outstretched arm. "I don't care if you do own me now. Stay away!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," the man said softly and patiently.

The girl snorted. "First time I've heard that around here," she negated sarcastically.

"Really, I'm not," he swallowed. "You're already injured enough." Unable to hold back his straying eyes any longer, he finally took in her bruised and scraped appearance. Closer now, he could see the horrid details of her wounds, some infected or just becoming so. Some yellowing bruises, some new ones, and the slightly swelled bruise along her jaw. There was also the way her left wrist had an ever-so-slight angle to it, as if broken and healing improperly.

He tried stepping forward again, much closer to her now. "Stay. Back," she said through clenched teeth, but still wouldn't move. He noticed this as well, and stopped to think for a moment. Then, the woman blinked upon seeing the hint of sadness in her new master's eyes.

He took a step back and said "They've beaten you, they've tormented you, they've tried to make you feel like nothing more than an object." The woman saw the man's emotions behind his eyes shift to something brighter, almost tender. "And you're still not backing down." He gestured his hand in the girl's direction, momentarily chastising himself when she flinched sharply at the movement, as if ready to be struck. "You ought to be proud of yourself."

The girl scoffed again, casting her gaze away from his eyes to the collar of the suit underneath the coat. "What? And you are?"

"After all that they've done to you," he replied with a widening smile. "Of course I am."

The woman shook her head dubiously. "Why'd you keep staring at me like that?"

The man inhaled before replying breathlessly. "Because… I've absolutely missed you."

"I've never seen you before in my life."

"You have, just not this face."

Her eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The man paused to stare more carefully at the woman. It was her. Oh, it was her, all right. Unmistakably, undoubtedly _her_. He could see her. He recognized her, and he wanted so desperately for her to recognize him, if only she saw just the _tiniest_ bit of him. He'd felt utterly hopeless for much too long now. He felt like he'd failed her, breaking his promise. And when he finally found her again, he also found quite a set of unsettling circumstances, on both of their ends, both clearly dealing with each other differently.

He thought for a moment before peeling off his coat and tossing it over the back of a chair, revealing the slim-fitting pinstripe jacket and trousers clinging snugly to his body. Her bemusement furthered when the man found the wet bar. Her eyebrows raised especially when he took out two tea bags from a pocket and tossed them into two cups, before pouring out the steaming water from the kettle.

When he took both mugs in hand and started walking in a different direction in the room, she turned around to face the double doors again. Sighing in resignation, she rested the side of her head against the wooden frame. _I had one chance_, she thought to herself. _And it's been blown to pieces…again_. She felt her teeth grit, not out of anger, but out of sheer guilt.

"Come away from the door," the man's voice insisted with a certain kindness that went against everything the woman had experienced up until this point. She didn't step away, but she did turn enough to see the man sitting on the bedside bringing the rim of his mug up to his mouth while the other mug was held on his knee.

_It doesn't matter anymore,_ she decided bitterly. _He owns you now. You're still going to have to do what he says._ She crossed her arms stubbornly and strolled cautiously towards the man, trying not to limp, stopping just before the bed. The man paused before holding out the untouched mug, which the woman immediately balked away from.

Sighing, the man sat the mug on the nightstand by the bed. "You can trust me-"

"Let's see," the woman interrupted, not caring whether she'd get a whipping after talking out of turn on so many occasions. "You've given me a number of reasons to think you're properly mad-" _Ten thousand _bloody_ slates_, she again thought to herself. "-So give me _one good_ reason to think I can trust you."

She watched carefully as the man pursed his lips. She suddenly found herself oddly surprised when the man shifted on the bed to sit cross-legged like a young child. As if completely in tune with her discomfort, he shifted until his back met the head board, and then nodded for her to join him.

Reluctantly, she sat down on the far end of the bed, copying his position while being mindful of her injured foot. It's not that she trusted him _already_. _Hell, no!_ She was just going through another agonizing routine of having to be obedient for her master. Of course, that's what she kept telling herself. However, she forgot to tell herself to shift back further when the man leaned forwards by quite a few inches, leaning his elbows on his knees and placing his chin on his fisted-together hands. And only one word escaped his lips.

"Henrik's."

The woman almost couldn't stop her jaw from falling. However, she quickly regained herself, or atleast attempted. "How-What does that mean?"

"Did you ever work in a London store called Henrik's?" At the woman's stunned silence, he continued, not breaking eye contact with her.

"When you were nineteen years old, you had a job in a department store called Henrik's. One day, you went down to the cellar to give lottery winnings to an electrician, and you almost never came back up." He paused, watching her jaw steadily drop lower and her already ashen face becoming even more so. "But…Someone stopped it. That someone was wearing a leather jacket, and he grabbed your hand and you both ran to safety."

"Oh my god," the woman whispered with closed eyes, covering her mouth with her hands, clearly trying not to lose herself in the memory.

"Then, you started travelling with this madman, and you were no longer the young girl who worked in a shop." They both hadn't realized that the man's hand had found her elbow. His fingers barely touched her abused skin as they skirted down her arm and over the uninjured wrist. "You became Rose Tyler…"

"Stop it," she begged weakly as a lone tear had already fallen from her chin.

"…the Time Traveler," he finished solidly, warmly, and gently squeezing her hand in his own. "And the Doctor's companion."

They both hung together in that bout of silence, the woman with her eyes closed and the man never taking his gaze from her eyelids. The only thing that got the woman to open her eyes was the touch of gentle, light fingers tilting her chin, being mindful of the bruise. The man, who was once sitting far across from her, was now only inches from her face. Her instincts told her to feel repulsed, to back away, but she was lost. Lost in her memories and in those warm eyes staring back at her soft hazel ones.

"It's me, Rose," he murmured with a growing grin. "I'm the Doctor."


	4. Impossibilities

_I referenced the episode "Christmas Invasion" and "Children in Need". **I don't own "Christmas Invasion" or "Children in Need".**_

Impossibilities

"It's me, Rose," he murmured with a growing grin. "I'm the Doctor."

Rose ducked away sharply, leaping from the bed and jumping to the floor, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain racing from her foot up into her kneecap. She brought her hands up to muss over her face in confusion and exasperation. His hand, which had been holding Rose's chin, dropped so that he could follow her. Rose twisted around to see him standing a few feet away, and he was a little surprised to see the harsh glare shadowing her tear-stained face.

"Stop it," she murmured hoarsely before her voice rose. "I don't know where you got all that information about me. I don't even care how you know my name." She paused, taking a brave step closer and firmly holding her finger in his face. "But I know the Doctor, and you aren't _him_!"

"Rose, it's me. It's-" The man, the mad stranger who claimed to be _her_ Doctor, swallowed the lump in his throat. "Honestly, it's me."

"You look nothing like him," she exclaimed. "Act nothing like him."

"Where do you think I got that memory of Henrik's from?"

Rose shook her head. "Well, if you'd found the Doctor, you probably... extracted it from him or something."

His eyebrows furrowed. "How would I-"

"It's not impossible," she countered. "The Doctor told me that lots of beings and creatures can read other's thoughts. Nothing's impossible," she repeated for emphasis. "You should see the things I've seen. The Gelth, the Slitheen family." The man took a step forward in concern when her face suddenly turned chalk-white. "Oh my god," she said, her voice giving off an almost fearful murmur. "Are you a Slitheen?"

The man shook his head, and was happy to see some color already returning to her face. "I'm not a Slitheen."

"But you look so human," Rose said. "What the hell are you?"

He knew she wouldn't recognize him right off the bat, but when they were sitting on the bed and he made her look into his eyes, he thought he saw something shift in those hazel orbs. He saw how her eyes flashed with both sorrow and hope, the evidence shown with a few fallen tears, and he thought that she somehow caught a glimmer of his old self. Instead, she held herself from him, shying away from his caring touches. The very first time they met, at Henrik's, he knew that she instantly trusted him. Why else would she agree to travel with him? However, now his Rose was blatantly not trusting him at all. He knew that it didn't have anything to do with this incarnation. It was the cruelty and pain inflicted by the traders that wore her down to this state. While there were pangs of guilt and anger in his chest, he also couldn't deny the bit of heartbreak he felt.

He asked how he could prove it to her, and she said to not even bother. However, he was determined. He'd just gotten her back, he wasn't about to lose her, and if he had to regain her trust all over again, then so be it. The mention of Henrik's may have been a fact, but it spoke nothing of him. He knew Rose so well that he could prattle on almost all day, telling her every little old secret he knew of her. However, his clever pink and yellow human wasn't going to be fooled. And while this certainly wasn't an act, Rose clearly thought otherwise. There was only one bit of solid evidence that he could think of. Only one.

He didn't walk forwards to cause any purposeful distress, but this had to be done. He slowly made his way until he was inches from Rose, a disheveled slave who was still refusing to cower or back down. His eyes captured Rose's, willing her to not look away as he did this, assuming she would try to struggle more if she saw where his hands were going.

This time, both of his hands found her elbows and, as predicted, she immediately tried to yank free. Without saying a word, he calmly took back her wrists, keeping his eyes on her disgusted gaze the entire time. Before he moved her hands, his thumb ghosted over a misplaced bone on her wrist. Rose couldn't help but be fascinated. He handled her so gently, without causing any ache or pain. She gasped lightly when her hands were lifted higher, until her palms and fingers – being especially mindful of the angle of the injured wrist – splayed over the man's chest.

Out of practice when it came to intimacy, she instinctively made to move away. "Hang on, Rose," he whispered, his breath warming her face. "Tell me…What do you feel?" Rose opened her mouth to make some form of snappy remark, but quickly stilled as both her palms twitched on either side of his chest.

_…Thump-thump, thump-thump…Thump-thump, thump-thump…Thump-thump, thump-thump…_

"T-" Rose gave a shaky exhale as realization struck her. "Two hearts…" She nodded her head and looked at the man's anticipating gaze. "Okay…so you're a Time Lord."

"The very last," he remarked with a slight tilt of the head. "Remember?"

Rose shook her head. "The Doctor's wrong, then, if you're here."

"Rose Tyler," he said, a small grin playing wistfully onto his features. "Still clever. But," he reiterated. "Time Lords can sense if there's another Time Lord, even if they're light-years apart, remember? And I can't sense any of my kind…not anymore."

Rose scoffed lightly, her eyes shifting to the floor. "Not clever enough, then," she murmured bitterly to herself.

"Oh, you're still plenty clever, if not more so," he exclaimed with an encouraging smile, trying to brighten her spirits. "Undoubtedly, unequivocally, fantastically clever."

_Fantastic!_

That cheerful word rang heavily through her memories and subconscious, untangling her muddled mind and allowing her to really drink in the man's genuine words. It wasn't in the way he said it, for he sounded nothing like him. However, it was the way he conveyed such a word, the way his smile shifted, the way his entire face lit up, and even the way his whole body seemed to shift. All of the known mannerisms connected to that single word were there. Still there.

After a long moment, Rose hesitantly swallowed. "So-so you're…?"

After letting her unspoken question sink in, he nodded. "Yes."

Rose's head shook slowly. "But...Where's _my_ Doctor?"

"Safe and sound up here." The man tapped a finger against his temple.

Any other day, hearing Rose say 'my Doctor' would've elated him, but he ignored this spike of emotion, and instead took hold of Rose's hands again, taking them from his chest to tug her back onto the bedside. They sat down, and the man-_the Doctor _only released one of her hands, cradling the injured one in his own palms.

"I was dying, at the time," he murmured eventually. Even after he released her hand, he still didn't meet her gaze, letting his eyes wander meticulously over her bedraggled form to search for anymore outstanding injuries. "In order to save myself, I _changed_ myself. The energy inside me reformed my cells, my insides, my voice, my hair, everything. Just to save me."

"I don't understand," Rose whispered back.

"I regenerated," he summed it up, back to looking at her eyes. "But I'm still the Doctor. Same man, new face. Well…" He drew out the word. "New everything."

Rose shook her head. "That's not possible."

"You just said that nothing's impossible." He straightened up a little. "However, if I can offer up some proof…When we met at Henrik's, and I took your hand, I said something to you. Just one word-"

The loud bang of an opening door resounded, causing Rose to bolt upright off the bed and the Doctor to sit there with his mouth still open on his sentence. The auctioneer babbled quickly about going through the amount of paperwork he had before handing a couple slips of paper to the Doctor. He folded them up and slipped them into his suit pocket without looking at them.

"If you'll just-" The auctioneer gaped at Rose. "How did you get out of your chains?!"

"Oh, that was me," the Doctor stood up with a slight hop, stepping in between Rose and the auctioneer in the process. Rose started slightly at his sudden change in mood. She was used to her Doctor's cheek and occasional mood swings, but this Doctor was different, more…excited?

"But I haven't given you the key yet," the auctioneer frowned, eyes trying to flick over to Rose.

"Didn't need one," the Doctor replied with a proud grin, pulling out a thin device from a pocket near the paperwork he put away. Rose had to stop herself from gasping when she took in every detail of the familiar object, and she almost gave a breathless chuckle when the Doctor pressed its button to light up the blue end and emit a soft buzzing. "Handy-dandy device. Can pick through any lock."

The auctioneer hummed warningly, pushing another piece of parchment towards the Doctor. "Just don't let the slave get near it. Now," he cleared his throat, pointing to a line at the bottom of the page. "Just sign here, then, Mr. Smith. It is Smith, ain't it?"

"That's right," the Doctor confirmed, scribbling a first and last name on the line. "John Smith."

"Earth name," the auctioneer said, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"_Common_ Earth name," the Doctor sighed dramatically, pulling his trench coat back over his shoulders. "Mum always thought it fitting for some reason. Bless."

"Not human, then?"

"Nope," he replied, popping the end of the word. "Now if you'll excuse us," he said, taking Rose's uninjured hand which she quickly jerked away, much to his growing impatience. "I am on a bit of a schedule. She was just an impromptu pick-up. I thank you, by the way!"

"No," the auctioneer shook his head gratefully, taking out the white paper, given to him as payment, to fan his face with. "Thank _you_ for your purchase." He suddenly frowned at Rose. "She knows she can't run too far without getting caught." He looked back up at the Doctor. "But I highly recommend you rebind her wrists. And if you don't wish to lug heavy chains, then I can find you a lead and collar-"

"It's fine," the Doctor tried to say casually, but knowing it came out with a certain clipped resentment. "I'll have no problem…keeping her line." With that, he turned on his heels with Rose following.

"'Keeping her in line'," she seethed in his ear when he used the sonic screwdriver to unlock the door with ease. The Doctor lightly shushed her, telling her to wait until they got further from the room. Soon they started making their way down the halls.

"You can't do that, you know."

The Doctor looked back at her quizzically. "Do what?"

"Hold my hand." The Doctor felt himself sag a little. "Around here, you can't just grab my hand like that. If the auctioneer wasn't suspicious of you already, then holding hands would've definitely sent up a flag."

"It was involuntary," he rebutted, words slipping from his mouth. Ignoring his face heat up in embarrassment, he suddenly felt hopeful. Was _that_ why she didn't want to hold hands with him?

He shook his head. His last incarnation would've been satisfied with a long hug in reunion. Yet, for some reason, this regeneration craved more of that contact.

"Well, coast is clear." He rubbed the back of his neck, slowing so that she could stand beside him. "Holding hands shouldn't be a problem now…don't want you wandering off and getting yourself tied to a whipping post." He immediately scolded himself for saying something like that in front of her and looked back to gauge her expression, only to find her gaze looking steadily down a far hall to their right. "Rose?"

She turned to him. "Why do you think I'm here?"

The Doctor's eyebrows came together. "Because they were selling you."

Rose shook her head. "That's _their_ reason for having me here. Not mine."

"I'm not following."

"Can I borrow the sonic screwdriver," she asked vaguely.

He held up the tool in his hands. "At your service," he crowed with a grin.

She nodded, a small grin creeping onto her face as well. She reached down and took hold of the Doctor's hand, taking note of his bemusement, and tugged him down a hallway, going farther from their exit.


	5. Getting Answers

_* I referenced the episode "New Earth" and "Dalek". I also referenced the shock bracelets from the episode "Boom Town"._

**_Warning: Very Dark_**

Getting Answers

Rose cursed under her breath when a soft clunk resounded behind the lock, just on the other side of the closed door.

The Doctor's eyebrows came together. "What is it?"

Rose rubbed tiredly at her forehead. "The next latch…it's made of wood." With a resigned sigh, she handed the sonic screwdriver back to the Doctor. "The screwdriver doesn't work on wood," she remembered.

The Doctor looked between her and the locked door. "If it's a lock that opens all at once," he thought it through aloud. "Would the latch be attached to the metal bits of the locking mechanism itself?" Rose nodded, having seen this lock from the inside at some point in her incarceration. The Doctor flashed her a clever grin. "Then allow me." He knelt to the ground, pointing the screwdriver at the lock. "Mind you, with the latch being wooden and all, it's going to take a few extra moments.

Rose shrugged. "So long as we can get it open."

Rose and the Doctor had jogged down a few corridors to reach this door. Closing hours were upon them, and Rose soon realized that the Doctor would be charged with consequences, as well, if they were to get caught. She told him that all she needed was the screwdriver, but he was adamant, telling her that he wanted to help.

He also didn't want to allow her from his sight. Whatever she wanted to do was clearly risky, even when a place as high-end on tech like this didn't even have security cameras. If she got caught and they weren't with each other, to run down the halls and out to safety together, he might risk losing her, possibly unable to see her again. That was unacceptable. Whatever she had up her sleeve, he wanted to help. Speaking of which, he wanted to ask her about this mysterious plan of hers, but he didn't get the chance.

"So, what've you been doing all this time? Without me?"

Momentarily floored by the rather conversational question, he quickly regained the casualness that came with this regeneration. "Oh, you know. Been running the TARDIS ragged." He wanted to say that he'd been looking for her all this time, but she beat him to the punch again.

"As always," she said with a light chuckle. And the Doctor didn't care if he didn't get to finish his sentence, he was just content to see some happiness flit over her. "Where all have you gone?"

"Let's see," he flexed his jaw, trying to remember all of the places he found in their search. "We almost ended up in Barcelona the one time…the planet, not the city. The TARDIS went utterly off course the one day, ended up in the year five billion and twenty-three in New New York."

"New New York," she gawked.

"Yep," he said with a pop. "So good they named it twice." He suddenly let go of the button on the sonic screwdriver to press the end of the device to his chin thoughtfully. "Year five billion," he mused for a moment before turning back to resume his task. "If I remember correctly…" He tilted his head to flash her a debonair smirk. "That was our first date."

Rose chuckled again, allowing her smile to become brighter, but still not quite reaching her eyes, or letting her tongue poke between her teeth. "We had chips." They both chuckled together, before Rose let her head fall back against the wall. "What I wouldn't give for some chips," she groaned longingly. "Haven't had any in over a year."

The Doctor quirked an eyebrow. "'Over'," he echoed.

"It's been a year and a half since we got separated."

The Doctor shook his head. "It's been two years for me." Though, he felt miserable that Rose had to endure that long in these conditions, at least it wasn't a full two years.

"Right," Rose nodded. "Time machine. Everything can be a bit…"

The Doctor looked at her again, away from the lock. "Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey," he offered.

"Yeah, that'll do." Rose nodded, trying to stifle another laugh. "So," she began more seriously. "You'd been to so many places so far. How'd you make it to the Moving Marketplace?"

"Well…um," he stammered, trying to make himself look thoughtful again, rather than nervous. "Someone…gave us a tip. Said you were last seen within BW 273. Been mucking about around here ever since. They never gave us, Harkness and I, any specifics, but it was the only lead we had."

* * *

><p><em>The Doctor and the Captain were tossed unceremoniously to the crudely tiled floor.<em>

_"You just had," Jack said through gritted teeth, ignoring the already-forming bruises as he made to stand. "to land here, didn't you?" He gave the Doctor a hand._

_"It was the TARDIS's fault, not mine," the Doctor exclaimed petulantly, brushing dirt away from his leather jacket._

_"You haven't had decent control of the TARDIS for months, now." The Captain huffed, rolling his eyes. "Not that you ever really had control of it, anyway."_

_"For your information," the Doctor pointed a stern finger at his friend. "'_It_' is a '_she_'. Besides," he added tetchily, mostly to himself. "Not everyone can pass flight school."_

_Jack threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "He didn't even pass flight school," he said simply._

_"I was having a peaceful afternoon until you two showed up," a calm voice cooed from across the room, making Jack and the Doctor swivel their heads._

_A rather stout woman with pale blonde hair, still clad in the same clothes they last saw her in, if not just a little faded and worn, strolled towards the boys._

_"No way," Jack murmured._

_"Hello, boys," the woman sneered, stopping a few feet away._

_Though Jack clearly wasn't in the mood for pleasantries and was ready to confront her, his friend was suddenly in an even lesser mood. The Doctor, now determined with only one thing on his mind, bumped Jack's shoulder as he marched passed, not stopping until he was almost nose to nose with the woman._

_"Where is she," he growled lowly._

_The woman ignored him and turned her gaze towards the Doctor and Jack's captor, a beetle-like humanoid that stood on its back two legs with its front legs raised in front of it. "You're dismissed," the woman said with a smile that bordered on patronizing. The creature raised itself up a little higher, the sharp pincer of its mouth clacking together rapidly with only a short stutter here and there._

_"Margaret," the Doctor said, a dangerous edge to his voice._

_The woman ignored him, her attention still on the creature. "Don't worry," she said. "I can take it from here." Bowing its head once, it turned around, the ticking noise that its legs made slowly receding down the corridor._

_Jack watched the creature bow out. "What was that thing," he asked._

_"Don't know," she shrugged. "Local primitive species I stumbled upon when I got here."_

_"How _did_ you get here?" Jack took a step closer to the Slitheen._

_"The TARDIS transported her here, remember," the Doctor's voice rose impatiently, not taking his eyes away from the woman. "Her _and_ Rose."_

_Blon chuckled lightly. "You like being the most clever man in the room, don't you? Good thing I'm a woman, then." The Doctor resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. "I was carried here by a merchant ship that took me from a nearby galaxy cluster. I scrounged up enough appeasable payment to hitch a ride, and then he dropped me off here." Blon glanced around the small, decaying, stone room, reaching out a hand to pat a split column to her right. "From what I gathered, this used to be a small civilization. They certainly had the architecture to show for it. Nice planet, too. Sustainable for me, for the time being."_

_Genuinely curious, and suspicious, the Doctor asked, "Why here, though?"_

_Blon blinked before answering. "Oh, don't think I haven't thought his through," she said conversationally. "There's another ship coming here within a fortnight or two to collect mineral samples for their planet. The owner of the merchant ship said that the mineral ship was going to make a pit stop on Owayse, a little planet just a few days travel from here. I have friends of the family waiting for me there."_

_"What about Rose," the Doctor demanded hastily. "Where's she?"_

_"How should I know," she asked with a nonchalant shrug. "Been months since I've last seen her."_

_The Doctor fought to take a patient inhale as he tried to ignore the Slitheen's heedlessness and ignorance, but Jack could see the all-too-familiar pattern emerging. At first, brimming with the usual energy that he exuded when he was being clever, they hopped enthusiastically from planet to planet searching for their companion. The Doctor's only way of tracking Rose was by gauging the TARDIS's reaction to certain places and times. It was a game of 'Hot and Cold'. If the TARDIS landed easily without complaints, they knew they were nowhere near Rose. But if the TARDIS ever put up a fight or landed with reluctance, they knew they were getting close._

_However, just like Blon, it'd been month's since the boys had seen Rose as well, and their searches were becoming more and more disheartening, especially for the Doctor. Him and Jack would talk to the locals of the planets they visited, ask them questions and, at the end of every day, come back to the TARDIS with nothing to show._

_"You were the last person we know she was with," the Doctor said carefully, trying to remain as calm as possible in front of their old enemy. "Where'd _you_ see her last?"_

_Blon slowly drank in their expectant faces. "Now hang on," her low, musing voice still managed to echo throughout the room. "Why should I tell you that?"_

_"So you do know-" Jack was cut off._

_"Of course I do," Blon snapped. "I was the one who left her there."_

_"You left her stranded," the Doctor yelled._

_Blon shrugged again. "I needed to go find 'cab fare' and I no longer needed her as leverage. Back to my question, though," she continued. "Why should I help you?"_

_"We won't bother you after this," Jack decided. "We'll finally leave you alone-"_

_"So she can continue her life as a criminal?" The Doctor quipped. "No. We'll be turning her in, giving her to her people."_

_"I'll admit." Blon nodded her head towards Jack. "_His_ proposition seemed genuine and I probably would've taken it, but I think I will have to decline now. And you," she nodded back to the Doctor. "Execution currently isn't on my to-do list." The Doctor didn't take heed when the Captain gave him an exasperated huff. "Why would it matter now, anyway," Blon carried on, not giving any effort to mask her taunting. "I left her stranded there, all alone. There's a chance she's already dead."_

_The Doctor froze at the word. That horrific, dreadful word that never ceased to chase him around the universe and back, and Blon Fel-Fotch Passameer-Day Slitheen had used it. A previous enemy, and the last one to threaten Rose Marion Tyler, had just used that word. None of those that they questioned over the months ever made such a threat, and towards _his_ companion. Something stirred inside the Doctor, but only for a second, like a short snap. He would've walked away now, to try and soothe his growing anger. However, Blon kept talking, tantalizingly calm, while the Doctor was unable to turn away. Just standing there, letting her words sink into his subconscious. All the while, the storm he was trying to suppress continued brewing in his mind._

__When all three of them travelled in the TARDIS together, Jack always made lighthearted jabs at the Doctor and Rose's relationship. And while they never outright admitted any feelings they might've had, there was no question of how much they deeply cared for each other. Their odd relationship was more psychological than physical. Aside from the occasional handholding, Jack would sometimes find them somewhere on the TARDIS, sitting side-by-side in the media room, or even lounging in the library chattering and jesting. Regardless of their lack of physicality, Jack wouldn't doubt the Doctor's protectiveness over his pink and yellow human, not for a second.__

_"Why are you still hanging on to the hope of finding her," Blon asked, standing a bit straighter, though not even close to the Time Lord's height. "I did research on you, after you killed my family. She's not exactly your first little helper; so she won't be your last. Why not just," she stopped to purse her lips for a dramatic pause. "send out an application for another assistant? I assure you, someone better would probably turn up," she said with a dismissive wave, but she was unable to take back her hand. For the Doctor's strong grip had ensnared her wrist, and the Slitheen let out a scornful hiss. Yet he found, after making more extensive note of the situation later, that she didn't seem interested in really fighting back._

_"Don't. You. Dare," the Doctor ground out._

_Jack placed a stabilizing hand on his shoulder, but was immediately shrugged off. "Doc-"_

_"How _dare_ you speak of them like that," t_he Doctor's bellow rang loud enough for a bit of dust to trickle from the crumbling ceiling, and_ giving the woman's hand a stuttering jerk. "As if all of my companions meant nothing! As if they were all just part of a long line-"_

_"But aren't they," Blon countered lightly. It agitated the Doctor. Hot anger kept rising in his throat, making him yell and shout while the Slitheen just stood there, calm and looking as though she had the upper hand. "Well, go ahead," Blon continued, while the Doctor tried to hold himself back. "Run back to your little spaceship and go look for her." She idly straightened her shirt with her free hand. "But I can assure you, even if she were still alive, she's too far from your reach."_

_"Tell me where you last saw here…Now, Margaret!" But she ignored his outburst, not budging._

_With an irate huff, the Doctor began rifling through his pockets, anything he could use to convince Blon to cough up the information he needed. His hand fell on his sonic screwdriver once, but he continued digging. He could probably use the sonic to knock her out and drag her to the TARDIS, but he didn't know how his TARDIS would react to this reunion. Perhaps he could set the sonic to-_

_His fingers fell on two circular objects, still hiding in the depths of his pockets, and stilled. The Doctor extracted the items from his pocket holding them up to reveal two thin hoops._

_During their searching these last few months, Jack even admitted to growing rather impatient. As a previous soldier, he was taught that his team took priority. And with one of his teammates currently missing, well…That just wasn't acceptable in his book. However, the Doctor was a different story entirely. His ever-exuberant and patient – yet, sassy – nature had begun to fade all too quickly. It was now almost normal to see him interrogate those they would question. __When they went about questioning people and the Doctor would start asking, Jack eventually had to keep his distance a bit, and would sometimes let out an apologetic wince at the occasional cowering civilian under the Oncoming Storm's intense and impatient gaze.__ And while the Doctor did visibly try to reign in his emotions, his control didn't last forever, and he always made himself walk away if he was ever about to get out of hand._

_But when he found those objects in his pocket, when he thought of their function, he felt his control slip coolly away. Completely out the window. Never in his life had he ever considered such a method, had never approved of it whatsoever. But it had now been months since he saw his companion be ripped away in front of his eyes. Too long he had been searching, and the possibility of her on any number of hostile planets, alone, maybe even dead, terrified him. Enough to put a cloud over his judgment._

_Blon's gaze flicked between the small hoops and the Doctor's face. "What are those?"_

_"Don't you remember," the Doctor replied rather numbly._

_"Doctor," Jack breathed cautiously, not taking his eyes away from the objects. "What're you-"_

_"Getting answers." Jack watched closely as the Doctor locked one of the familiar hoops around Blon's wrist, still holding the other one in his grasp._

_"Doctor, I'm frustrated as well, but…What're you doing _now_," the Captain demanded._

_The Doctor had lowered the sonic to Blon's wrist. "Lowering the current and voltage," he replied stoically, before turning his gaze back to Blon, who was noticeably becoming more nervous. "One last chance, Margaret," he said evenly, putting the screwdriver back in his pocket, holding up the bracelet still in his hand. "Tell me where she is and I'll take that bracelet off your wrist."_

_Her stubborn silence was equally her refusal. So, without undoing her bracelet, the Doctor let go of Blon's wrist and tossed his bracelet towards the other side of the room, at least ten feet away._

_For months now, all of their questioning was met with silence, vague replies, and refusals to answer. And Blon's responses fueled the fire to his growing anger. For months now, he had been without Rose, not knowing where she was, who she was with, or if she was safe._

_Blon's blunt and vague answers made him snap that day, allowing the Storm in his mind to be set free. He kept that storm locked up for a reason. That storm, much like all storms, caused devastation. He never wanted to see the damage it always made when unleashed, even when it was happening right in front of him, writhing and twisting in crumpled agony on the ground._

_Out of his peripheral, Jack moved swiftly forwards, making a grab for the bracelet across the room. He could see Jack's mouth moving, shouting disapprovals and profanities at his friend. However, he couldn't hear him. The Storm was roaring, making his ears buzz and block out every word from Jack's mouth, and every torturous scream coming from the Slitheen._

_Even after Jack had gotten the bracelet in close enough proximity for the electrocution to stop, the Storm still raged in his mind, continuing to make him deaf to the rest of the universe. His mind was in a haze as he watched his friend kneel down to share a small, whispering conversation with their enemy. With a nod, Jack tossed the bracelet to the floor in front of Blon, walking forwards to grab the Doctor roughly by the shoulders._

_"What the hell, man!"_

_When the Storm finally quieted, when he was finally able to hear his friend's words, he was then able to muster up something to say. "I needed answers," he quietly repeated, not meeting the Captain's eyes._

_"And electrocuting your enemy with shock bracelets is the way to do that?!"_

_The Doctor finally whipped his cold gaze to Jack. "You're the one who gave them to me for our little dinner date!" He pointed between himself and Blon, still curled up breathlessly on the floor._

_"That was for a threat, not a _promise_!"_

_"I told you," the Doctor said a little lower. "I set the level of intensity down-"_

_"Because that makes it better," he said as a firm statement, not a question. The Doctor tried coming up with something to defend himself with, something to make the situation better. However, this moment was familiar to him, and after letting himself get a better look at Blon's bedraggled state, and the wristband clenched tightly around her wrist, did he let his actions truly sink in. With a remorseful groan, he scrubbed his hands over his face and shaven head._

_"Hey, look at me," Jack said more calmly, but still rightly pissed. "I want her back, too." He paused to let the Doctor swallow the desperate lump in his throat. "But she wouldn't want us doing it like this." Jack inhaled, looking between Blon and the Doctor. "I told her again if she gave us a location, we'd leave her alone. And she agreed."_

_The Doctor blinked, a small twinge of anger coming back to life. "She's a criminal-"_

_"And if Margaret does anything, we'll be right there," Jack assured, but that was any empty threat. Given the entirety of the universe, Blon was just another speck, and if she continued her criminal activities, how would they even know? "Hey," Jack said with a shrug. "We got a location at least." He exhaled, a small grin playing on his features. "Finally, huh? We'll get you two lovebirds back together in no time."_

_However, the Doctor didn't listen to his light teasing, still trying to extinguish the haze in his subconscious. A hint of the Storm was still there, unable to disappear or go away, but the Captain was right. In all of the darkness that resided within him, among all of the times he'd ever let his anger get the better of him, he never wanted to get like this, and he thanked Rassilon that his Rose wasn't there to see him like that._

_When he deemed the Storm as manageable, he yet again brushed past Jack to approach the Slitheen. Blon had been shakily picking herself up off the floor when a strong, yet oddly tentative voice rang above her._

_"Not too long ago," the Doctor's voice carried into her ears, but she refused to look up at him. "I met an ancient enemy of mine. He was chained up, broken, unable to use his weapon to defend himself. He should've been dead, long ago. And that's what I tried to accomplish. What I did then is what I did to you just now. I electrocuted him. At the time, I promised him death, but looking back, I admit I was torturing him as well…And…I regret it." When he stopped talking, Blon tilted her head to look up at his outstretched hand. "Margaret…Blon Fel-Fotch Passameer-Day Slitheen…I was out of line…and I'm sorry…more sorry than you can imagine." With a bout of hesitation, and upon seeing the sheer guilt in his eyes, she allowed him to pull her up._

_"Well," she huffed, trying to dust herself off in a show of pride. "You and pretty boy got what you wanted." She rolled her eyes irately when the Doctor removed her bracelet with the sonic, ready to put away both of them before Jack snatched them from his hands to pocket them himself. "Now…" Blon sniffed. "Get the hell out of here and leave me alone."_

* * *

><p>He didn't tell her everything, just enough so that it wasn't a lie or too vague. And she seemed satisfied with that information. Perhaps he would muster up enough courage to tell her the rest at some point. But for now, it was his turn to ask questions.<p>

"You still haven't told me, yet," the Doctor said, back away from the door after hearing the final clunk of the releasing lock. "What's your plan?"

Rose reached for the doorknob and let the door swing open, the light of the hallway shining a rectangular column of light into the room in front of them. The Doctor stood there in slight shock, mostly at the revelation of Rose's plan.

"This is what I've been doing ever since they enslaved me," Rose explained. "This is why I asked you to wait outside. I didn't want to burden you."

After a few moments, he shook his head."This isn't a burden." The Doctor turned to Rose. "After all, it _is_ our job to help people."


	6. Stuff Of Legend

Stuff Of Legend

The woman sported dark hair and tattered clothes, like Rose. Although, her clothes showed more color and slightly less wear. She was also an inch or so taller, and a bit thin. The Doctor finally noticed that, with an uneasy drop in his stomach, Rose was much skinnier in contrast, judging by her slightly sunken cheeks and baggier clothes.

When the woman stepped carefully into the light of the hallway, he and Rose took note of her condition, and were both relieved. Despite the dirt and dried mud that plastered over lightly tanned skin, the only things that appeared even remotely distressing were scattered bruises and a scratch that ran from beneath the sleeve of her shoulder and almost down to her elbow.

The woman blinked briefly at the hallway's lights before settling her squinted gaze on Rose. "What's going on," she asked quietly, her groggy voice laced with a certain strength that had yet to be beaten from her. "No one bought me at the auction."

"We're not here to buy you," Rose reassured, in that ever-kind voice that the Doctor had severely missed. "We're here to get you and your friend away from this place."

"'We'," the woman echoed, and spun around like a shot at the sound of the Doctor's voice.

"Hello," he greeted with a cheery smile and wave. "I'm the Doctor, and this is Rose."

The woman stood stock-still, mouth opening and closing rapidly. Concerned, the Doctor took a step forward. The woman, in turn, immediately raised her elbow and arm protectively in front of her paling face.

"It's okay," Rose encouraged, swiftly placing a hand on the woman's shoulder. "He's with me. He wants to help."

The woman's eyes darted suspiciously between Rose and the Doctor. "Isn't this the bloke who placed that bid on you?"

Rose nodded. "He only did that to get me out of here."

The woman's gaze rested pointedly at the Doctor. With an inhale she asked, "Ten thousand slates," shaking her incredulously. The Doctor asked why that was such a big deal. "Aside from the Ulvenns, no one in BW 273 has _that _kind of money."

"Haven't got a dime," the Doctor chirped. "What are Ulvenns?" The Doctor stared as she sighed impatiently and looked to Rose.

"The Ulvenns," Rose told him. "own the slave trade market in this galaxy cluster."

"The _entire _cluster," the Doctor gaped, and his mouth opened by another fraction when his companion nodded.

"Blimey," the woman exhaled, mostly speaking to Rose. "For someone who's supposed to be breaking you out, he ain't too bright. Didn't even do his homework."

"Oi," the Doctor yapped with offense, and Rose bit her lip to suppress a chuckle.

"So," Rose turned back to the woman. "What's your name, then?"

"Iris," she replied. "And my friend…" She stopped when she looked behind her. Iris gave another impatient, yet oddly light sigh. "Don't worry," she called into the room she came from as the Doctor and Rose tried squinting through the darkness. "They're friends. You can…" She cut herself off to look at Rose. "We're standing out in a hallway and anyone could come _strolling_ by-"

"Not yet, they're not," Rose shook her head. "They don't come down this hall until afterhours."

Iris eyed her with a touch of sympathy. "You've been here a while, haven't you?"

Rose shrugged. "On and off," she replied simply. Whether she stopped because she didn't want to talk further, or because another figure stepped into the hall behind Iris, her and the Doctor weren't sure.

The younger lady shyly walked up to Iris, her short wavy hair doing a rather poor job of masking her blood-shot eyes that were ducked submissively to the floor.

"You're kidding me," the Doctor breathed upon seeing the other woman.

Rose blinked rapidly. "You know her?"

"How come _she_ gets to be ginger," the Doctor griped while Iris's mouth dropped incredulously and Rose glared at him with an expression that read, '_Are you kidding me?_'

The Doctor waved a hand at the woman "How is _that_ fair?"

"Doctor," Rose whispered strictly.

The Doctor looked at her perplexedly, for a moment not understanding her scolding tone, before blinking in realization. "Ah, right," he said apologetically, scratching the back of his neck. He took his free hand and extended it. "I'm the Doctor." The woman gasped and jerked away from the advance, still not meeting anyone's gaze.

"Poor thing," Iris murmured, as if speaking of a young child that wasn't even in the room. "She's been here longer than me. A rich man bought her near three years back, then returned her here. Hasn't been the same since."

Rose took in the young woman's condition. There was no literal filth on her, no scratches, no breaks, just bruises. On her neck and chest. And a few red welts on her shoulders that worked around her pale blue halter top. Rose saw it often enough now. She was capable of cataloguing what most scratches or bruises meant. She understood the dirt on a slave's clothes and skin. Even broken bones, in certain places, had a meaning of what that slave was previously involved in.

For example, excessive dirt on the hands and all the way to the upper arms, like Iris, meant they'd been working despairingly outside in a garden or field.

The ginger-haired woman, however, was a special case. She didn't get her injuries from hard work or because she was disobedient. A slave's Master never did damage to the neck or chest. Injuries in those areas were vital and could cripple a slave too easily, and no slave driver wanted a laggard. Therefore, bruises in those areas weren't really even _bruises_. They were bite marks.

Bites from her Master.

Rose swallowed sympathetically and walked forwards to place her hands on the woman's shoulders, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. After the woman calmed, Rose asked, "What's your name?"

Iris shook her head. "I've already tried, she doesn't remember."

The Doctor looked steadily at the woman, regarding her with care. "How could she forget her own name," the Doctor asked quietly.

"We're not human beings here," Iris sighed, before pulling her blouse collar to the side. "We're just numbers. It's easy to forget anything personal about ourselves." The Doctor squinted, hunching over to see the dark scribbles in Iris's skin. With horror, he mouthed the number that had been branded cruelly to her shoulder, forever marring her skin. Iris shrugged and let the collar fall back into place. "It's how they keep record of us."

The Doctor stood straighter and looked sharply at Rose. "Did they do the same to you two," he demanded, making the unnamed woman flinch.

Rose didn't say anything, just hooked her fingers under her plain shirt collar to drag out an inventory tag. Ignoring the jumpy woman as he almost brushed passed her, the Doctor carefully flipped out a pair of glasses and took the tag in hand, inspecting the long number written there. He sighed with relief, chuffed that it wasn't burnt onto her already damaged skin. He then looked to the woman in front of Rose and saw the edge of an inventory tag peeking from beneath her top. "Why would they give you a tag instead of branding you like Iris," he asked. He let go of Rose's tag and, given that this was the closest he and Rose had been since reuniting, he took the time to let his eyes yet again wander meticulously over her body. He was still trying to find any vital injuries, anything that couldn't wait until they got back to the TARDIS, to the med-bay. If she did have any severe injuries, she was doing an incredible job of hiding them.

Rose ignored him, turning back to the woman she was still grasping the shoulders of. "My friends and I," she spoke softly, hunching to try to meet her downcast gaze. "We're escaping. We're gonna get you out of here. There's a wood just outside the door down the hall. Walk a mile or two and you'll find a ship. They land there this time of year to collect their minerals for their planet. They'd be able to give us a lift. You can finally go home."

"Are you certain?" Iris raised an eyebrow at her.

Rose turned to look at her. "Trust me." Though, her enthusiastic smile quickly vanished upon hearing a shy new voice, making everyone look at the ginger.

The woman swallowed. "Do me a favor," she muttered, words spilling lifelessly from her lips. "and don't lie to me."

"Well," Rose remarked. "Good thing I haven't lied, then." When the woman didn't make a reply, Rose decided to move on, knowing that trying to pry any conversation out of her would prove difficult. And, unfortunately, they really didn't have the time to try. "Speaking of which, we really need to leave. It's closing time in a few minutes, and that ship is only going to be around for a few hours."

The Doctor stepped behind Rose smoothly and cleared his throat. "TARDIS," he mumbled to her.

Rose flicked her gaze sharply to look knowingly at him. "Use the TARDIS to take them home?"

The Doctor nodded with a wide smirk. "Sounds like a plan!"

"Fantastic," Rose exclaimed. "Where'd you park it?"

"Oh…" He paused to do a bit of mental math. "Somewhere between ten and fifteen miles into the wood."

Rose let a whistle. "That long." Her jaw flexed, making the Doctor wince as her bruise seemed to shift painfully.

"The TARDIS hasn't been behaving for me since...about the time you left. Didn't want her going mad in front of everyone. She's already scared Michelangelo half to death. Had to remake _David_ all over again."

"Blimey, I've missed a lot," Rose pursed her lips rather despondently, before exhaling. "The TARDIS'll be better than the mineral ship. Longer walk, yeah, but I know the old girl's gonna be a more solid escape."

"Fifteen bloody miles," Iris spluttered. "You're trying to kill us, you are!"

"Just trust me, yeah," Rose repeated quickly, knowing their escape time was shortening. "I've been doing this for nearly two years now. I know what I'm doing." Rose casted her gaze between herself and her friends before falling upon the Doctor. "Come on," she said, taking his hand while Iris gingerly wrapped an arm around the ginger-haired woman's shoulders. "We need to leave."

The four escapees jogged down the hallway, being brisk, but mindful. No one knew the full extent of the others' injuries, as well as assumed everyone's exhaustion. While they continued on their way to one of the back doors, the Doctor asked a few questions here and there.

Apparently, it was very rare to have locked doors in the Ulvenns' facilities, unless you were a new slave or a nuisance. No one ever thought of escaping too often, for fear of being hunted down and beaten. Though, escaping wasn't exactly the hardest part. It was running until you were far enough away. The Ulvenns and the other slave drivers were ruthless, but knew when to call it quits. If a slave ever got far enough way, its Master would no longer bother.

Rose, the Doctor quickly gathered, was a special case. She became a problem-slave almost from the beginning, what with her stubborn streaks, cheek, and occasional escaping, resulting in them having to lock her up thoroughly.

They all queried that, for some reason, the traders chose today to lock everyone up more carefully, but no one had an answer. However, the Doctor wondered if he had anything to do with it, but they couldn't possibly have known he was coming. Landing on the Moving Marketplace was an accident brought about by the TARDIS's knackered systems, and he only stopped extensively because he did need the spare parts sold by the antique vendor. If the Ulvenns somehow knew he was going to be there, wouldn't they have packed up and left immediately, or even tried to capture him. Rose had said that male slaves were uncommon, but not unheard of.

Before they made it to the last curve in the hallway, Rose leading the way, she took a quick pause before rounding the next corner. That kind of pause had saved their skins on two occasions already. Rose was stopping before corners to hear the sounds of any echoing footsteps. Thanks to her vigilance, they managed to dodge a few of the traders strolling near.

Every now and then the Doctor would squeeze her hand, out of both reassurance and encouragement. His brilliant pink and yellow human had been doing this for a year-and-a-half straight, smuggling slaves out of auction sights, and various other places. She had said that all she had to do was get the slaves out, then return back to her quarters before anyone could notice her absence.

"And you keep on going back," the Doctor murmured understandably.

Rose nodded. "'Cause there are slaves that are still out there. I'm always tossed around from auction to auction. And if there are any other slaves there, then I help them if I can."

They rounded another turn before finally setting sights on the back door, and beyond that, the woods. Then, hopefully soon, the TARDIS. Before Rose could make a move for the door handle, something in Iris's voice stopped her.

"You said you've been doing this since you got here, helping slaves and all that," Iris stated, still keeping a firm grip on the other woman's shoulders. "I think I heard about you. My god." Iris' eyes gradually widened. "You've get every Ulvenn, and Master, and every other sorry sod going mad! They know someone's been freeing all those slaves, but none of them know _who_. You're practically a legend amongst the slaves! They got a name for you. An odd name. It's..." Iris clicked her fingers rapidly, trying to jog her memory.

Yet again, the timid and faltering voice of their unnamed friend seemed to shatter through their conversation.

"The Wolf…" she whispered, tucking a loose strand of ginger hair behind her ear. "A lot of slaves call you the Bad Wolf."


	7. Escape

Escape

The Doctor repeated the name.

"Why Bad Wolf," he looked skeptically at Rose, who shrugged.

"A lot of slaves kept asking for my name, but I didn't want to give it to anyone in case word got out that _I_ was the one freeing slaves." She paused to purse her lips and give a knowing smile. "Plus, we used to see those two words everywhere we went. Even Margaret used them for the power plant. I thought I should at least put the name to better use."

"Can we save this conversation for later," Iris hissed at them, tugging the ginger-haired woman protectively closer.

"Hold on," the Doctor quickly held up a finger, not looking away from Rose. "You said the Ulvenns don't keep track of names."

"There was one exception," Rose explained, her voice dropping as if someone unwelcomed would hear. "And it's left me suspicious ever since." She nudged her chin in Iris' direction. "But she's right. We really need to-"

An abrupt moaning was let loose somewhere within the building, and soon built to an abrasive howl. The resonance poured into every room and hallway, rushing over the four escapees, all just inches away from freedom. They stood frozen, drinking in the sound of the alarm for just a moment. When realization finally kicked in as a response, the Doctor immediately snatched Rose's hand.

When they locked eyes, the Doctor said only one thing, a sentence that contained just three letters. It was an action that held only one meaning and needed no elaboration. A statement that simplistically defined their entire lifestyle.

The single word that began their friendship.

* * *

><p><em>The collective chattering from a large throng of tourists was soon being drowned out by their own screams as a blinding gold sphere burst over their heads. Everyone scattered away, leaving a spacious and rather skewed circle for the two separate masses that dropped from the sphere and plummeted to the ground. Both figures that landed groaned their muffled pain against pale, trampled grass.<em>

_A few from the surrounding crowd murmured suspiciously and some asked if the figures were all right, but were met with another moan from the younger stranger and a dismissive huff from the eldest. When the gold sphere faded around them and the eldest began picking herself off the ground, the crowd shot them a few more wary glances before receding._

_While the younger of the two slowly pushed herself onto her knees to take in the sights, the older one was already on her feet. Their gazes passed between shop after shop and an endless stream of tourists bustling around them._

_A gentle, tepid breeze rustled through the air, and the young blonde loosened the multicolored scarf around her neck. Without looking at the older woman, she asked, "Where'd you suppose we've landed?"_

_"I know _exactly_ where we've landed," her captor spat at her, strolling around a bit and effectively getting closer to the younger. "I know that we're not anywhere _near_ where I wanted to be. Bloody ship of yours is awful at taking directions."_

_The blonde exhaled as the older one stepped within a few feet. The blonde let the wind blow her hair from her eyes, and she cast a glance at the sky. It was as if she were waiting, expecting. She opened her mouth while shaking her head. "I don't know what you said to her, Margaret, but I hope you're happy. Now we're stuck here."_

_Blon ignored the human and continued muttering to herself. "Moving Marketplace," she decided with a shrug. "Close enough." The Slitheen reached a hand up to her forehead._

_Her fingers met the hairline, pressing against ever smooth, ever human skin, unable to find the zip to finally regain her true form. Blon gasped and clawed both hands over her face desperately. Human hands. "No…"_

_As Blon was distracted, Rose carefully raised herself on her feet to slink away. Neither of them were on their home planets, neither of them wanted to be here, and neither liked the other. With the difficulty of their situation, Rose would've tried to make middle ground with the Slitheen, if only temporarily. However, at this point, after her family tried to kill them, after the struggle under the rift, after the strangling she'd received by her in the TARDIS, Rose didn't want to be near her if it meant another betrayal._

_"Get back here," Blon hollered after her, stumbling forwards to catch up with Rose._

_The teleportation had left them both in a daze as they both tried to run. Rose's legs gave a wobble and she crashed to the ground. Scrambling to her feet, she found herself hoisted upwards, a pudgy arm hooking around her chest._

_Rose felt the Slitheen's still-existent hiss in her ear. "You know how that blue box works. It did this to me! It turned me human, and _you're_ going to tell me how to change back. Agh!"_

_Blon's strength was no longer what it used to be, and she lost energy in it quickly, allowing Rose to wrench away and dash down the long lane of shops and pavilions. Though months of fast running with the Doctor paid off, Rose still found herself foolishly glancing behind her every few seconds. And when Blon was finally out of sight, she let out a triumphant bout of laughter._

_She zoomed around a vendor to take a rest in a tiny alley between shops when a tall, pale man blocked her path. Unable to stop she ran into him, the force making her slam backwards onto the ground._

_"Please," she gasped for breath, turning onto her hands and knees. "I'm sorry for that, but I really need-" Rose made a cry of pain which swiftly dove into a cough._

_Before Rose could collect herself, the man she had run into grabbed her with both hands, one wrapped around the back of her hair, the other clenched tightly beneath her jaw. Her narrowed gaze was forced to look upon her new captor._

_The man had pale skin and a gangly stature. His dark robe veiled over him, and the suit collar protruding from beneath the robe folded upwards and grazed the lobe of his pointed ears. Rose instinctively stiffened under the unsettling orange eyes that regarded her intently._

_"Hm." The man's calm, thick voice did nothing to soothe her nerves. Rose winced when the hands wrapped around her tilted her head this way and that, lazily appraising her as if inspecting a rare antiquity. "How interesting," he murmured, and Rose noticed that he was not directly talking to her. "Are you a new face," he continued. "Have we not been properly introduced?" The man's head tilted fractionally. "Zaeffer!" His voice rang around the shops between them, but there was no anger in the shout._

_From the corner of her eye, Rose could see a shorter man appearing, seemingly the same species, though not as clean-cut._

_"Galzen," the shorter man addressed respectfully._

_"Zaeffer, remove her jacket." Galzen's fingers tightened around her as she tried to put up a struggle. Nimble fingers flicked at each button of her jean jacket in quick succession, until the coat slipped over her shoulders and was tossed over the shorter man's shoulder. Galzen nodded at Zaeffer again, and Rose felt hands returning to her shoulders._

_"Damn it," Rose choked out, trying to jerk free of the triple fingers slipping under the collar of her shirt to rasp callously against her skin. "Let…m…go!"_

_"As you can see, dear Zaeffer," Galzen spoke with an almost amused clip. Rose whimpered when Galzen lifted her onto her tiptoes, and she knew then that her struggling wasn't even phasing the men. "She's clearly new to this. Spotless attire, soft skin. She hasn't had proper training. Any tags?" As Rose was unable to shift her gaze at all, she couldn't see what Zaeffer was doing. Galzen hummed softly. "No tags," he tutted. "That just won't do. Young lady, what is your name?"_

_Galzen's hand slackened just enough for her to move her jaw. "Rose." _

_Galzen nodded with mild earnest. "Tell me, _Rose_, do you not yet have a Master?"_

_Rose gasped loudly, her only manageable noise of incredulity. It was when Zaeffer finally came into her line of vision to point to a portly figure running towards them did she truly embrace the fact that she was having a downright awful day._

_"May we," Zaeffer grimaced as the woman slowed to approach them. "help you, ma'am?"_

_"Does this one belong to you?" Galzen pointed his chin down at Rose._

_"Regretfully, she does," Blon scowled. "And I still have yet to make some use of her." Rose glared at her. Blon reached out to curl a hand around the shirt fabric over Rose's shoulder._

_Rose let out a pained shout when Galzen jerked her away from Blon, and she tried to angle her body away as his cloak wisped against her body._

_"What kind of use," Galzen queried._

_"Any kind. I just need to get off this blasted rock."_

_"And _she_ would be able to accomplish this how…?"_

_"Doesn't matter," Blon shook her head impatiently. She scoffed. "Perhaps I could use her to haggle with." Galzen and Zaeffer exchanged a quick glance._

_"Are you two human," Galzen asked with a hint of a smile._

_"The girl is. I'm Raxacoricofallapatorian." She smiled innocently. "Just having trouble getting out of the skin suit. It's been a day."_

_"If you're having trouble getting off the Marketplace," Zaeffer's semi-nasally voice offered. "You could just ask us."_

_Galzen nodded. "There's a merchant ship in the Marketplace today. With enough money they can give you a lift."_

_Rose's eyes darted between everyone. Unable to speak or move, all she could do was look on as events unfolded around her. Blon, Zaeffer, and Galzen spoke conversationally of where the ship was headed, of offering money to Blon. And Rose's eyes widened as she listened to the bargain that made the corners of Blon's mouth turn up._

_Blon asked what they would even need Rose for. They explained that they were traders, and watched over the slave auctions that occurred every week in the Marketplace. Despite the pain and fear of suffocating, Rose felt a rush in her blood as she renewed her struggling, jerking and twist messily in Galzen's firm grasp._

_She almost couldn't hear his heavy sighing. "No wonder that Raxacoricofallapatorian wanted to get rid of her slave. She's absolutely incorrigible. No manners whatsoever. Zaeffer," he beckoned. Zaeffer looked away from watching Blon disappear into the crowd to follow orders._

_Wordlessly, Rose felt Zaeffer jerking and scratching at her wrists. Old rope began binding her hands together. She thought that was it until she felt more rope travelling up her arms until they forcibly bent them at the elbows, crisscrossing her limbs together like shoelace. Suddenly, Galzen's hands fell away, and before she could make a daring escape the crisscrossed pattern of rope between her tied arms was tugged roughly by Zaeffer. The odd way the knot captured the muscles of her arms made her struggling terribly difficult. It was combined with the added hand grasping at the back of her neck and the exhaustion flitting through her body that made her slow._

_Galzen walked around to face Rose's back. He nodded again, and Zaeffer lifted her shirt up along her back, stopping right under the clasp of her brassiere. __Galzen gave a small request. __"Kneel."_

_But Rose didn't seem to hear him. "Get off me, damn it! Like hell you're gonna sell me!"_

_"Breathtaking," Galzen admired delicately, pulling out a long object from within his robe. "A human who understands Ulvenn tongue."_

_Rose huffed and tried to glare back at him. "When my friends come for me, you're gonna be in for it!"_

_Galzen's head tilted. "Are your friends human?"_

_"No," Rose responded. The Doctor was a Time Lord, but Jack was questionable. He was a previous Time Agent, as well as among other things. Did all Time Agents have to be human?_

_"Then they serve no purpose nor receive heed from me. Now, kneel."_

_Defiantly, Rose stilled and said, "No."_

* * *

><p><em>Blon tossed the money she'd made off Galzen to the ship owner and boarded. It would be the start of her journey to be reunited with old friends. Regardless if she was now stuck as a human, she would be safe where she was going.<em>

_Her exhale of relief was outmatched by a sharp crack thundering through the Moving Marketplace._

_"Ma'am," the ship owner tapped Blon's elbow. "We're leaving."_

_"Right," Blon murmured, her gaze fixated in the distance, where she left Rose. Swiftly, without a smirk or frown, she straightened herself and turned back inside the ship. The doors slid together with a hiss and a clunk._

* * *

><p><em>"I'm not wanting to ask again," Galzen's head shook as he fidgeted the thin strip of nylon between thumb and finger, his third finger sticking outward at an obscure, but apparently natural, angle. "Kneel," he repeated gently, almost stoically.<em>

_Rose stood firmly in place, entire body trembling from the shock. As seconds ticked by, the echoes of the crack had disappeared, but the stinging that caressed her upper spine wasn't going away. She shook her head. Her and the Doctor had been through worse. Though, neither had been brutally tortured, this still should've been nothing to her. Rose took several deep breaths and found herself gradually calming down._

_When she regained enough sense, she turned her head to face Galzen. Another snap rang out and this time she couldn't stop from crying out loudly when it yet again connected, landing on the small of her back. The shock of never having been whipped before had passed, but she couldn't help the silent whimper as she felt liquid drip lazily from the cut and down her back._

_She barely registered when Zaeffer leaned close to her ear. "Just do as he says," he said evenly. "The more blood you spill, the better chance of infection. We'd hate to see someone as pretty as you perish in such a manner."_

_Still, Rose refused to budge. Soon, the Doctor and Captain Jack would lock onto her location. They'd find her, and free any other slaves that were there. It was the only hope she could hold onto as the whip continued its assault. Every few strokes, Galzen asked her to kneel. His voice was light and even, not one trace of anger, not even boredom. In her mind, Rose kept refusing. But the blows were beginning to move away from her back. They lashed lightly at her neck, then back down passed her bum. Now, the whip cracked heavily over legs. More force was needed as it had to be felt through jean material._

_Rose whimpered aloud as the trembling returned to her body, legs shaking heavily until she felt her knees begin to bow. "No," she whispered against her arm, still not registering that even her head was bowing down now. __All at once, the whipping stopped. For a relieving moment, Rose tricked herself into thinking it was over, until that word eased from Galzen's lips. _

_"Kneel."_

_Rose parted her lips only to have her lower jaw quiver. The pain that seared in her body met at all points of her spine, making any sort of movement ache. It was even to a point where speech was now rendered._

_From behind her, Galzen nodded, and Zaeffer slowly stepped away from Rose, allowing her shirt to shift back down her red-streaked back. With a nod, mainly to himself, Galzen drew back the whip only half as far as he was originally going._

_One final crack rang throughout the Marketplace. If all was completely silent, one would hear the hollow sob of a young woman, followed by jean-clad knees thudding against pale grass._

_Two things were for certain._

_One, the Moving Marketplace had been completely desensitized by such barbarism. The sight of a young, blonde woman being whipped into submission in a dusty alley was not something anyone wanted to look at, but over time they realized there was not only nothing that could be done for such events, but they were also reminded of the Ulvenns' deal from decades ago. And no one was too keen on going out of business again. Also, no one had the gall to speak up against them._

_The last certainty of the Moving Marketplace dawned only upon one human that evening, carrying on this reminder for months and months to come. It was the startling realization that she wouldn't be seeing a familiar blue box for quite some time._

_The realization that he couldn't come for her._

* * *

><p><em>Rose had only been with the Ulvenns for a month. And already she'd seen too many slaves being beaten and sold at auctions. She was sick of watching everyone she was getting to know disappear before her eyes.<em>

_She'd had enough._

_They were running. _

_Desperate footsteps hammering against tan leaves. She only heard _her_ footsteps now. The other slaves had separated from her._

_The planet Zykxy was not far from the Moving Marketplace, just two planets away. It had an older auction site, though. More worn than the others she'd been in. After finding one of the rusty hinges that helped cage her in, she used every bit of her lessening strength to make the rust strain, and eventually crack. She worked from there, finding every slave she could, and getting them out._

_Currently the slaves were headed for a town where the folks there highly disapproved of slave trade, and would hopefully help them. _

_R__ose was still running through the woods. __She ducked sharply under a set of branches, only to have to rip through a wall of undergrowth. However, she couldn't continue any further. Just beyond the undergrowth, she skidded to a halt._

_The quiet night air was shattered by harsh intakes of breath. Rose could only stand there and peer down the steep slope before her. She could probably slide down it if she was careful, but she kept thinking about all the other slaves the Ulvenns must've had. Her survival instinct to escape drifted away with her fogged breath through the chilly air. She didn't want to leave anyone behind._

_"Oi, I see her!"_

_Rose stilled at the voice of one of the auctioneers before sagging her shoulders. She didn't run, didn't try to hide. They would surely whip her once they caught up to her, but they would lead her back to more slaves. And the process would start all over again. She would have to be more careful, though. Perhaps there was a way for her to get them out without her being seen, or somehow get back to the holding areas before-_

_Something struck her upper back. Hard. _

_Biting back a cry of pain – how much more satisfaction does she want to give them? – she plummeted to the ground, earning a mouthful of bitter dead leaves in the process. She twisted onto her back, coming face to face with an auctioneer. The pain in her back made her vision blur. She could see the auctioneer's hand rising up, but couldn't see what he held. Oh, but she felt it._

_Right before she blacked out she let out a scream when the weapon came down upon her leg, the bones of her kneecap cracking sharply underneath her skin._

_She awoke in one of the infirmaries for slaves. Her mind wasn't on how exhausted she was or how numb her entire left leg felt. She could only think of the interaction she'd had earlier that night with a boy, just getting on with his teen years._

_Before her and the slaves separated, a young lad gave his fervent thanks before asking for her name. She'd been asked this before, so she replied boldly, but as humbly and as tenderly as possible._

_"Bad Wolf," she smiled at him. "They call me the Bad Wolf."_


	8. Evening Chill

Evening Chill

Pale strands of grass melted into lush waves of tall greenery as four sets of footfalls thundered out of the building and deep into the woods. Barely seconds later, numerous other footfalls resounded heavily behind, trailing rapidly after them. They ran, more than she'd ran with any slaves before, and suddenly the long distance between them and their assured freedom was shortened, but at the cost of the hastened air from their lungs.

His respiratory bypass was doing wonders, allowing him to speed up a tad, and soon Rose had disappeared from his peripheral vision.

"Doctor," Rose called after him, making him turn his gaze towards her.

Frowning, the sound of his heavy breathing smothered the thudding of his converse as he slowed to allow his friends to keep up. He gasped desperately when Iris suddenly stopped, as did the others. His feet slid on the mossy ground as he skidded to a halt, and ran back to the girls.

"We can't stay," he huffed impatiently.

Iris blew out a puff of air, the beginnings of the evening chill evident by her visible breath. "Gotta…give me a minute, blimey," she wheezed, clutching Rose's shoulder for support. "Developed asthma in that last year." She let out a sarcastically excited trill, as if invigorated. "Haven't ran like that in years. We'll reach your ship in no time!"

The ginger-haired woman released the insecure grasp she had on her own shoulder to lightly touch Iris' back. "She's got some sort of lung damage," she told Rose, barely above a whisper. "Her third slave driver was vile."

A shout rang out behind Rose and reflecting torchlight gleamed against the expanse of bushes around them. The Doctor swallowed impatiently and wrapped a hurried hand around Iris' arm. "They'll catch us if we don't move. I can carry you."

Rose shook her head quickly, still gasping for breath as well. "All that jostling could make it worse. We need…to stay put."

The Doctor's eyes flicked rapidly behind her. "They're right over-"

"We'll lie low, then," Rose countered, wiping at the sweat matting her hairline. "We could _all_ use a break." She grabbed the Doctor's hand and tugged, gesturing for him to kneel below the bush-line and hopefully out of sight.

All four sat on the soft ground. Waiting.

The Doctor plucked apprehensively at moss and grass, listening to the resonance of the hollering around them. Never receding, never advancing. The voices seemed to circle the area, and he hoped they weren't slowly becoming the victims of an ambush. The Doctor tilted his head in different directions as he continued to toy with the shrubbery, trying to gauge how close every footstep was. The ginger-haired woman gasped sharply at the loud crack of a snapping twig.

That noise was closer than the rest, and the Doctor tensed, ready to jump up and run at a moment's notice. For a long spell, the auctioneers and slave drivers got quite closer. However, their angered hollering grew to irate murmurs as the footfalls backed off, further into the woods and back to the auction site.

The Doctor exhaled and, after a moment, caught Rose staring.

They snagged each other's gazes, and light blushes rose to their cheeks, though this was, for the most part – thank Rassilon ! – hidden under the cover of nightfall.

"Hello," the Doctor murmured with a light grin.

Rose smiled back. "Hello."

The Doctor chuckled warmly and stood, then offered his hands to pull the girls off the ground. "All right, then?"

"Yeah," Rose replied, a touch of breathlessness still clinging to her throat. "Just give us another minute."

Iris looked at the other woman, then back to Rose. "We're ready if you are."

Rose bit her lip. When she felt the Doctor's firm, but gentle hand on her shoulder, she sighed. "You'd think," she swallowed, looking into the Doctor's eyes. "All those times we ran for our lives…I'd me more prepared for this." Rose took a particularly long exhale, and the Doctor frowned at her abrupt wince.

Rose startled when the Doctor brushed a handful of her fraying hair behind her shoulder. "Once we get back to the TARDIS," he spoke softly, resolutely. "I want you in the med-bay." He looked to Iris and the other woman. "You two, as well. I'd like to give you an assessment before handing you back to your families."

Iris gaped widely, pulling her friend closer. "Like hell you're getting us out of our clothes!"

The Doctor spluttered. "I'm-I'm not…I'm-What?!"

"It's all right," Rose raised her hands defensively, away from the Doctor and to their friends. "He doesn't even have a doctor's office, really. He doesn't do hospital gowns."

"Something moved behind you," the ginger-haired woman murmured frantically.

They both spun around, the Doctor searching madly through the darkness while Rose moved off to the side, ready to defend her friends, as well as leg it. She stuttered to a halt, eyes widening as she watched the figure step out of the thicket. Her jaw dropped when the figure raised a gun at the Doctor.

"Move," a voice shouted. Before the trigger pulled, the Doctor threw himself to the ground. The gunman fired half a second after, a thin band of blue electricity rocketing from the nozzle and slicing through deep shrubbery several feet away. A strangled cry erupted beyond the bushes, followed by a thud.

Silence fell once again.

"Now," the stranger said, dusting his hands on his pants after he stashed his weapon between waistband and the small of his back. "Who said they were getting out of their clothes?" The man flashed them a devilish smirk, and Rose, who had started to smile, was now grinning like a mad-man.

The Doctor sighed heavily and stuck out his hand. "Give it," he demanded, as if taking a toy away from a child.

"It's out of power," the man said. "All of my chargers are back at the TARDIS. Fifty-first century tech," he smirked impressively and flashed a wink at Iris and the woman.

"You _shot_ him, Jack," the Doctor ground out.

Jack rolled his eyes. "It was a stun gun. Pretty low setting, but he won't be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for several hours."

"Honestly," Rose shook her head, chuckling breathlessly. Jack Harkness went still at the sound of her voice, and a wide grin slowly split his face as she stepped towards him. "I don't think I could ever imagine you murdering someone." She flicked her gaze to the Doctor, then back to him. "Not with him around, at least."

"Oh my god!" Jack laughed, bouncing excitedly before launching forwards and slinging his arms around her. If the strong hold around her waist wasn't enough to suffocate her, then the pair of lips crushing her own would've definitely done so. Finally, he pulled back to stare directly into her eyes, eyes gleaming and still grinning like a kid at Christmas. "You're alive!"

Rose scoffed lightlt, keeping her arms around his neck. "You think a bunch of slave drivers could've done me in by now?"

"With your stubbornness, I'm surprised they were bothering to chase you. I mean," he pointed to the Doctor, who was scrubbing an awkward hand over the back of his neck. "You had _this_ guy whipped, for god's sake!"

"Ooh," Rose said, putting her face against his shoulder. "I've missed you," she murmured.

"Hasn't been the same without you, Rose," he muttered against her hair. "Me and the old man over there, we were going crazy. Couldn't find you anywhere. The TARDIS was no help."

Rose bit her lip, carefully picking out a burning a question that she already had an answer for. Yet, where the answer had come from, it wasn't enough. At the time, the voice had begun to lull her, slowly giving her the reality, and she thought she could accept it then and there. But then Jack made his appearance, and the trust that she gave when she received the answer was immediately taken back. Rose knew Jack. Rose knew she could trust _him_, and now she craved for an answer to come from _him_.

Rose leaned to Harkness' ear, dropping her voice to a whisper. "That man…in the trench coat," she swallowed. "He said…said that he's…"

Jack nodded solemnly. "Yeah, Rose…that's him."

Rose shook her head tersely. "That _can't_ be him!"

"He changed, Rose."

"He changed," she repeated harshly. "He changed _everything. _I've no idea-"

"He regenerated," he negated gently.

"Okay." Rose agreed to that, but swallowed again. She tried to wrap herself around the idea, but with a completely different man standing in his place, her reasoning didn't want anything to do with it. "He said he was dying, but he regenerated. Regenerating saved him…" Suddenly, reasoning was out the window. She could feel it leaving, replaced by an absurd conclusion that her brain was now presenting. Saying it would sound barmy, but it was still an option - No…

It was a _wish_.

"If regenerating saved him…" Rose said carefully. "Then…then, _my_ Doctor," she foolishly allowed herself a hopeful smile, a smile that was visibly bereft. "Would that mean he's…he's still-"

Jack shook his head slowly and pressed her closer. "The Doctor we knew is gone, Rose. He wasn't _just_ dying." He swallowed thickly. "He's dead."

Rose tried to hide any kind of sob with a humorless laugh, but to no avail, and she pressed her face back against his shoulder to try to stop any moisture from collecting in her eyes.

"Hey," Jack murmured, rubbing her back consolingly. "Believe it or not, this one ain't too bad. Sure, he's got his…quirks," he said, thinking back on when the Doctor licked a bit of disinfectant at a hospital, trying to figure out why all of the patients were being cured more swiftly than he and the Doctor had ever seen. "But he's still got some of the old him. And you want to know what else?" Rose pulled back to look into his eyes. Jack smirked and tilted his head towards the Doctor. _"That _hair_!"_ He mouthed the words around an elated whisper, causing Rose to bite her lip in an effort to stifle a snicker.

She squeezed his arms one last time before pulling away. She was pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She jerked her gaze up to connect with a pair of deep, chocolate eyes.

"Rose," the Doctor asked, eyes scrunching in concern.

"I'm fine," she sniffled, not taking her focus away from him. "Just missed him, that's all. Missed both of you." She said that last part more quietly, but purely genuine. The Doctor beamed at her.

Jack was right. Though this smile belonged to someone completely new to her, she supposed that, if she squinted, she could see a hint of his older grin. She didn't know if this general acceptance would last, but for now, it would have to do.

"Hey," Jack piped up, steeping passed Rose and the Doctor. "I missed you as well, but the question remains…" He stopped just a foot or two away from Iris, while the ginger-haired woman ducked her gaze away from him. "Who're your friends, and _why_ haven't you introduced us yet?"

Rose carefully cleared her throat to have a go at his attention. "Jack-"

But he was already extending his hand to Iris, a debonair grin stretching over his features. "Hi there, Captain Jack Harkness."

"Jack, seriously-"

"Oh, that's-that's all right, Rose," Iris assured, taking Jack's hand. "If he's friends with you…He doesn't seem too harmful." Jack hummed appreciatively and brought her knuckles to his lips.

"What's your name," he asked the other woman. She stood stock-still, refusing to look him in the eye out of fear.

Iris touched his arm. "She doesn't trust men," she whispered somberly. "Not anymore."

Jack shrugged. "Bet I could change that," he said. And Rose found herself, ashamedly, surprised that his voice was no longer flirtatious, but serious, almost clinical. "First things first." He turned a little to eye everyone. "The TARDIS is over two hours away, and you all look bushed. We need a campsite. There's a safe spot not too far from here. Has a river, and it's pretty closed off," he offered.

"What are you doing out here, anyway," Rose asked.

The Doctor nodded. "I told you to stay with the TARDIS in case she goes mad while I went and got the parts."

"Eh, impatience," Jack answered nonchalantly. "And the TARDIS told me about a commotion a couple miles off. And then I told myself, 'Well, I better go save his sorry ass'."

Rose shook her head with a dramatically grave sigh. "Can't leave him alone for a moment," she agreed, before breaking out into a grin at the Doctor's petulant grumbling.

Jack chuckled. Then, he clapped his hands together, but not too harshly, as if not wanting to startle anyone. "So," he said a bit louder. "Camping? Resting? Sound good?"

A mutual agreement wasn't needed, for they were already trekking in the direction of their soon-to-be campsite, steadily moving away from the bushes and into a small thicket. The area where they had been was deserted within minutes, even the slave driver Jack had stunned wasn't there anymore.

In fact, he left minutes before they did.


End file.
